Iteration
by AgelessGrace
Summary: A somewhat blending of the books and the TV Show. Charlotte returns to Bear Valley to attend her twin sister's wedding. More than ghosts of the past surface when she gets caught up in a murder investigation centered around Stonehaven. So much for her plan of running away and never looking back. Reviews are love!
1. Bear Valley Is Your Home, Too

A/N: First story. Big fan of the WOTOW series, and I find Bitten to be a fun TV show that pays homage to the books. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I can only dream about owning it all...

* * *

I stood on the central pedestal of Marguerite's Bridal and Alterations, hoping that lightning would strike out of a clear blue sky and rocket through the shop's main window, killing me on the spot. Not that I was particularly keen on being found dead in a sea of pink taffeta, but neither was I overly joyful about having my picture taken in it on the day of the wedding. Somehow I just knew that photo would make its way onto Facebook in a mock Throw-Back-Thursday post. Because this dress looked like it died horribly in the '80's and had only been resurrected for my personal shame.

I'd once had the misfortune of saying it would take my twin sister getting married to lure me back to Bear Valley, NY. Penance for making that bargain? The above mentioned, oft clichéd, pink taffeta, ball gown bridesmaid's dress.

More layers of pink skirting shot out around me than there were clouds in the sky, all sparkling with silver glittery accents. Contrasting harshly—or should I say blending well?—with the silver nose ring, lip ring, and the silver piercing of my eyebrow. You don't want to know what it did in connection with the multiple colors in my hair.

I looked like the ugly love-child of Scarlet O'Hara and Marilyn Manson, flecked with Tinkerbelle dust just to round out my humiliation.

"You look stunning!" Mama Sophia smiled.

Stunning? Not quite the "S" word I would have used. I wisely hid a wince. "Thank you."

"It's so good of you to come home for little Charlene's wedding."

I plastered on a smile every bit as fake as the synthetic cloth I was wearing. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world." I lied.

The smile on Mama Sophia's face took on a knowing quality. At eighty-nine years young, she'd seen more of the world than most people ever dreamed. She'd been sixteen the day Pearl Harbor was bombed, a newly married woman that saw her nineteen year old husband leave for war. Pregnant, too, with my grandfather. When her husband was killed in action two years later, Mama took it upon herself to pick up where he left off. She joined the Army as a translator, helping to develop the secret code used transmit messages right under the Nazi's eyes.

To this day, you couldn't get the old lady to tell you what she saw, what she read, and how she did it.

Believe it or not, she was the inspiration for Peggy Carter in the Captain America comic books.

"I know you hate it here, Charlotte," she replied. "So it truly means the world that you came back for this."

I sighed. There was no use lying to Mama Sophia. "It's not Bear Valley, and you now that. It's the memories."

"Memories can be good things, even the bad ones," The oddly soothing _click-clack_ of her cane against the aged tile floor letting me know she approached before I saw her reflection in the mirror. Soft hands patted the merciless layers of pink with precise care. "The bitter reminds us of the sweet. And the sweet to appreciate the things we have, child. You will always have a place in Bear Valley. It's your home."

There was nothing I could say to that that wasn't offensive or mean. So I didn't.

* * *

Bear Valley was a place that time literally forgot. When I stepped out of Marguerite's shop, I felt as if I was stepping backwards in history. The 1960's saw the largest boom this sleepy little hamlet had ever experienced. The inclusion of two production plants at the north and south boarders of the town drove a scattered population of about five hundred into a small city of something slightly north of eight thousand residence. Most everyone in the town owed their living to one plant or the other.

There were three coffee shops in the town—two for tourists and one for the locals. None of them were Starbucks, thank you very much. All the stores were locally owned, with every business tailored to the community. Shops lined the sidewalks of the "downtown" slice of Bear Valley instead of clubs or high end boutiques. Kids still rode their bikes on the sidewalks, and the most anyone ever had to fear after dark was a pack of teenage boys armed with rolls of toilet paper and rotten eggs.

The older women still got their hair set once a week at Miss Millie's Salon, and the men went fishing every Saturday morning while they waited for their wives.

I stood on that sidewalk and closed my eyes, trying to tell myself that I was really back. That I could leave at any time. That there wasn't some giant noose around my neck, slowly tightening with each breath I took.

"You sure know how to blend in."

I jumped in spite of myself. "Thanks, Aunt Karen," I grinned, spinning around to face her. "Or should I say Sherriff Morgan?"

My aunt pulled me into a fierce hug, and I let myself sink into the scents of good ivory soap and the starch of her uniform. I'd always wanted to be like her when I was growing up. She was one of the women in this town that didn't feel the pressure to marry as soon as she was legal and pop out a passel of kids. She'd followed her dreams to law enforcement, and turned convention on its ear when she'd been elected as the new Sheriff.

I'd been away at college when all that happened, trying to forget that Bear Valley ever existed.

"You look good," I smiled, stepping back. Taking in her dark brown hair, her fierce eyes. "I mean that."

"And you look… frightening," she laughed.

I stood out like someone had pasted a clipping from Modern Goth magazine against the set of Leave It to Beaver. Jet black hair streaked with blue, green, and purple, pulled severely back from my face in a high pony tail. Too many piercings to count ran up and down my ears. Big-ass, gaudy, inverted pentagram necklace in sterling silver hanging from my neck.

Long black skirt, black boots, black shirt, black leather jacket… Okay, maybe I had overdone it today. Sue me. I was nervous in returning to the place that had pretty much branded me a witch the day I learned to talk. Was it any stretch of the imagination that I'd dressed the part today?

I grinned anyway. "I don't suppose you get the industrial-goth crowd around here much, do you?"

"Only when their parents force them to come to town for a vacation in the 'good old north.'"

My grin became a smirk. "I don't look like a rebellious teen."

"To me, you'll always be a rebellious teen, Lotte."

It was said with so much fondness beneath the snark that I beamed a smile all over again. "Do you have time to catch up? Want to get coffee or something? I think the usual spot is still open…"

Her smile wilted a touch, becoming something grim. "I'm afraid not. I've got to make a stop before the day is over."

I made a show of glancing around the lazy, near-comatose street. "No offense, but there isn't much in the way of stops in this town. I bet I could walk to the coffee shop and you'd meet me there before I sipped my first cup."

"That would be true if I was stopping in town."

That made me blink, made a tingle run down my spine. There was only one place within miles of Bear Valley that could be considered a stop, and that place had enough rumors whispered about it to make me look like a saint.

Stonehaven. She was going to Stonehaven. And from the look on her face, it wasn't for a social call.

"You're going to the Danvers place, aren't you?"

No one in town said the name Stonehaven out loud without looking over their shoulders. Like it was a curse or something. Say it three times in the dark before a mirror and old Malcolm Danvers would come and swallow your soul. Or so we all thought as children. As adults?

The wind chose that moment to kick up in a fit of dramatic pique, sending a scattering of scarlet-tinted fall leaves around us like loose tears. I shivered despite the presence of my jack. Aunt Karen shrugged uncomfortably. Apparently even the superstitions of children held power in the light of day, no matter one's age.

"Why are you going… there?" I pressed, not sure why I wanted to know, but unable to stop asking.

Aunt Karen gave herself a shake. "There have been some wolf attacks in the area, Lotte."

I blinked again. "Wolf attacks?" I echoed dumbly. "What does that have to do with … the Danvers?"

"Nothing, most likely," she replied. "However their home sits in the middle one hundred plus acres of forest. We've got some uneasy people in town that may take it upon themselves to go trespassing under the guise of 'investigation' if I don't check it out first."

"You mean you have a bunch of idiots with guns and not a lot of income that are jealous of the Danvers family holdings."

A touch of a grin erased the worry line from between her eyebrows. "You always could read between the lines."

"What you call reading between the lines, most people called creepy witch craft," I waggled my fingers at her for emphasis.

She laughed. It was the first real, joyful sound I'd heard since arriving. "I've missed you, Lotte."

"Me, too," and it was my turn to let my smile fade. "More than just a wolf attack has happened to get the town riled up like that. What really happened?"

That laugh became a sigh. "Someone died from the attack. And you know how the regulars can get when they don't have someone to blame."

I shivered. Oh, how I knew what it was like to be the scapegoat. "Yeah, I get it. Listen, can I… can I come with you?"

She eyed me a long moment, no doubt remembering the last time I'd paid a visit to Stonehaven. "Why?"

"It may go easier if you have someone with you. You know, with the townsfolk, I mean. I'm not the most credible witness in everyone's eyes, but I'm better than nothing. Besides, I don't like the idea of you going up there by yourself. I know you are the sheriff and all, and that you can more than take care of yourself. But you're my only family outside my sister and Moma Sophia that gives two craps about me. I'd like to think that entitles me to a little worry on your part."

She couldn't argue with that logic. I saw it in her eyes. "You say in the car the whole time," she ordered. "You may have changed since you left Bear Valley, but most of us haven't. The Danvers still don't appreciate interlopers on their land, so stay in the car. Period."

* * *

No one had ever been inside Stonehaven that wasn't somehow related to the Danvers family. I'd always found it amusing that there were so many Danvers 'cousins' that came and went at odd times of the year, but no one who was ever 'father' or 'mother' or 'aunt' or 'sibling.' No, it was always cousins. Save for Antonio Sorrentino and his son, Nick. Those two always visited Stonehaven when Clay and Nick were kids.

Hell, I'd gone to school with Clay for a bit before his grandfather, Malcolm, had yanked him away for private tutoring. Clayton Danvers presence in public school had met the bare minimum to establish him in the system. We'd shared a third-grade class for about two months, desks side by side. And on the times he'd said he'd forgotten his lunch, I'd shared mine with him. Hiding beneath the bleachers in the gym, because he didn't want anyone to see him eating it.

Years later I would understand it was because Malcolm said he couldn't have any lunch. It had to have been a punishment for something. But whatever that had been, I was too young to ask about it and he was too sad to talk about it.

I wasn't lying when I said the rumors about Stonehaven ran rampant in my home town. And more than just isolation bred those stories.

Other than those professing to be of blood relations, no one was allowed past the massive ironwork gates that walled off the properly from the outside world that weren't there on official business.

"This was a bad idea," I murmured, watching those gates swing inward. A tingling had started in my fingertips, a familiar warning that something was going to happen here. Something that, while it wasn't necessarily bad, wasn't exactly good for me, either. "I shouldn't have asked to come here."

Aunt Karen shook her head, keeping her eyes on the road. "Then stay in the car. It's probably better that way."

Said as if she, too, felt the tingling.

There were so many rumors about the Stonehaven Cult (what the town cruelly referred to the Danvers family as behind their backs). Sex cult, demon worshiping, aliens, drug-runners, mafia… Take your pick and it was probably said when their backs were turned. Even the house itself seemed to lend credibility to the rumors, a massive stone structure dating back to pre-civil war days. No one knew how many rooms it held, no drawings on file anywhere that people could access without a warrant. And the land itself seemed to breathe displeasure with each turn of the tires down the crushed stone driveway.

The tingling became a slight tremble, so much so that I tucked my hands into my pockets, trying to hide it. Aunt Karen noticed anyway, a slight frown on her mouth before she hid it behind her cop expression.

I don't know what I expected to see when we pulled to a stop, but it wasn't a twin-pack of Danvers standing on the front porch. I don't think my Aunt expected that, either. That flat cop expression twitched ever so faintly as she put the car in park. Jeremy Danvers and Clayton Danvers reclined causally on the front porch. Clay dressed as I'd remembered in relaxed fit jeans and untucked flannel, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Jeremy in trousers and button down shirt, a vest complimenting the outfit. Also with sleeves rolled halfway up his arm.

Like they had been in a hurry to move something. Or were preparing for a fight.

I didn't like those thoughts, and glancing over at Aunt Karen, I could see she didn't like them either.

"Stay in the car," she repeated, casually loosening her gun in its holster. "I'll just be a moment."

Both men were staring at us so intently I was mildly surprised there weren't lines on my face from it. I swallowed hard, closing my eyes. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. I was fine. I was fine. There was nothing wrong. I was sitting in a cop car for crying out loud, with an armed woman that happened to love me standing not six feet away.

The trembling spread through me like wildfire anyway, lancing up into my chest, spearing my heart.

And then it happened, the thing that I'd avoided for years now. I hadn't had a vision this powerful since I'd fled Bear Valley as a teen. So long ago, in fact, that I'd stupidly ignored the warning signs: the tingling, the falling leaves, and the stir of the wind at just the right moment. It was all coming back to me now that I was home, now that I was in the place that had started the whole thing.

The vision washed over me, propelled onward by the… otherworldly sense of this place. It was old, Stonehaven. Old in ways that had nothing to do with temporal measurements and everything to do with a scale that didn't exist in mortal reasoning. I could feel myself ghosting through its walls, through time itself, drawn by a heartbeat made of earth and rock.

A cage. Myself in the cage. Screaming. And Jeremy Danvers on the other side, a look of sorrow on his features. A blond woman beside him, kneeling before the cage, grabbing my hand and telling me I could do this.

The vision shifted, and I saw Antonio Sorrentino in a fight on the side of the road. A flash of silver and his gut ripped open, his scream muffled as he fell to the dirt.

Another shift. The blond woman shot in shoulder, running from someone whose heart was blacker than death. Knowing that if he caught her, she'd beg for death before he'd give it to her.

Another shift… and I found myself back inside my own skin, staring through the windshield into Jeremy's crystalline eyes. His mouth made movements, apparently saying whatever my Aunt wanted to hear. But those eyes stayed on mine. Pulled at my soul in a way that wasn't a vision and more of a… I don't know what it was, honestly. Just something that wanted me to get out of that car and walk over to him.

My hand was on the door handle when Aunt Karen turned away, heading back towards the car. She broke the line of sight between us and I gasped, leaning back in my seat. Feeling as if I'd run a mile in two seconds.

"Well, that was a waste of time," Aunt Karen muttered, putting the car in reverse and turning out of the drive. "They're refusing to allow the search."

I was never so grateful for shoving my hands in my jacket. She couldn't see how badly they were shaking. "They aren't the source of the attacks."

"It's too early to determine that," she countered, turning the SUV in the drive and heading towards town. "It would have made my job easier if they'd let the search team onto their land. A lot of hunters are showing up in town and it's only a matter of time before one is stupid enough to cross onto Stonehaven land."

"They aren't the source of the attacks," I repeated, not sure how I knew that. Just that I did. Lovely, the impulses were returning right on schedule with the visions. God, I hated this place. "I think they would have handled it if they were."

"You say that like you know for certain."

I kept staring into Jeremy's eyes through the rearview mirror as he and Clay faded into the trees. "Call it a hunch."

The conversation died and I didn't have the heart to try and carry it forward. Not with the memory of Jeremy's eyes on mine, and that vision flash-fried into my grey matter.


	2. I'm Not The Big Bad Wolf

"You realize Mom about had a heart attack when she saw your face," Charlene grinned, flopping down on my bed. Well it was her bed, I guess, considering I was staying in her guest room. "She saw all those piercings and swooned."

I grinned back. "Make my day and tell me she kicked me out of the wedding party for it."

My twin bopped me in the face with a girly throw-pillow. "As if I would let that happen. And it was Mama Sophia that went to bat for you. You know what happens when she gets something in her head."

My mirror image flipped over onto her back, staring up at the glowing, sticker-shaped stars on the ceiling. They were the same ones we'd had in our room since I could remember. So many nights staring up into the dark, talking about going to the actual stars one day. I laid down with her, picking out the constellations one by one, including the few we'd made up ourselves, and felt her hand wrap around mine.

Reflexive. Safe. The blending of our fingers into one unit as we must have in the womb. Her jet-black hair mingling the multi-shades of mine. Makeup applied to look natural, whereas mine was all trash-rock and glam. Looking at us now, it was hard to believe we'd come from the same place. Hard to believe that the two little girls with dreams of going to distant planets had become a doctor and a lawyer.

"What did Mama Sophia say?" I asked.

Chocolate eyes flicked my way. "What didn't she say is probably the better question."

I chuckled, squeezing her hand. "The earth would spin in the other direction before someone could change our grandmother's mind."

Char grinned again. "Exactly. Though, for mom's sake, maybe take out the lip ring during the photographs?"

I sighed dramatically, rising and pulling out the box of clear spacers from my duffle bag. "Yes, I bought enough for all my piercings. None of them will show in the photos."

She made a happy shriek that I was certain only small animals could hear. "You are the best! Now make my day even better and tell me all about Stonehaven. Did you see Jeremy Danvers at all? Did he ask about me?"

My turn to bop her with the pillow. "How did you know I went to Stonehaven today? And aren't you getting married to the love of your life in a week?"

She waved away the first question as if it was of no consequence. "You do realize this is Bear Valley, right? Secrets don't stay that way very long here. And yes, I'm marrying Elijah in a week. Yes, I love him with all my heart. But Jeremy Danvers…," she fell backwards onto the bed with a dreamy sigh. "I've had a thing for him since he saved our lives when we were children."

I was glad she was lying down, so she couldn't see me go all shades of pale. She'd nearly drown in a small pond on Stonehaven land when we were nine. We'd been stupid kids, wanting to play Snow White and Rose Red in a real 'enchanted' forest. With all the rumors and hushed whispers surrounding that place, it was hard to keep us away from it. So we'd snuck out our bedroom window after dinner and crept onto the edges of the Danvers property.

And promptly got lost.

Hours of roaming those woods as Princesses had been the most fun we'd experienced our whole lives. Floundering all lost-like in unknown territory with the sunlight fading and the cold fog creeping in? Not so much fun after all. Fleeing in random directions became the plan, and we'd run for our lives, trying to race the sunset back to our house before Mom came in to tuck us into bed.

I don't know how long we ran or where we had gone, but it wasn't long until we found the Big Bad Wolf. Or rather, the Big Bad Wolves (yes, in plural) found us.

They were huge, so large that I felt as if they could swallow my entire head without the need to chew. And they just stood there, gazing at us without showing teeth. Without blinking. Just… stared.

If I'd thought we were running for our lives before, it had nothing on the speed in which our little legs gobbled up the ground. I swear to all that was holy; we had grown wings and flew over that stretch of land.

Aunt Karen tells us that we exaggerated things, that wolves in North America could never get that large. We were kids—scared kids at that, and our imaginations distorted the facts appropriately. But that particular nightmare flight always haunted me, and in my nightmares the wolves never changed sizes. No matter how I grew, they stayed the same. Larger than any wolf I'd ever seen. And far more intelligent, too.

Back then I never put the physics of the situation to perspective. As in, there was no way two tired nine-year-old girls in dirty princess dresses could have outrun those wolves. They never nipped at us, either. More like herded us towards the Morgan Family property line, steadily driving us in one direction.

Towards safety. Towards home.

Until Charlene fell down a hidden ledge… and went sliding into a freezing cold lake.

I'd fallen, too, though not down the ridge. I'd come to a stop when my sister's head disappeared beneath the water, the wolf behind me nearly trampling me before it could stop. It stood over me, its muzzle hot, its breath steaming in the fading light. Its nose sniffing my hair, the satin-velvet of it brushing my temple, my forehead. I whimpered, crying softly for my sister and for myself.

My hand had fallen on top of its massive front paw. "Please," I'd whispered. "Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry. Please save my sister."

I didn't know what I expected it to do, or if I'd spoken the words of my heart simply because it was all I could say in that moment. Maybe it was the fault of all those Disney movies my mother made me watch growing up. The ones with the idiot princesses that married the man they'd only known for a day or two, and that were so lovely they could somehow grant human-level intelligence to the animals around them. Singing them into a state of friendship.

And above its head, the stars glittered. Glowed. Shown down on us with clarity I had never seen within the human-infested city.

"Please," I'd whispered… and reached out a hand to touch that nose.

My first vision exploded behind my eyes with the force of a thousand supernovas.

I saw Charlene on her wedding day. I saw myself standing at her side. And all around us blood flowed. Staining the hem of her gown, of my gown, rolling like an ocean wave crashing against the altar. No matter how much I screamed, no one would react to it.

I screamed aloud. I think I tried to throw my arms around the wolf's neck for comfort. I think… I don't know what I thought. All I remembered next was waking up in our bedroom, safely snuggled into my own bed, Char in hers across from me. And I heard voices I would later associate with one Jeremy Danvers and one Antonio Sorrentino explaining to the former sheriff how they weren't' going to press charges for our little trespassing adventure, so long as it didn't happen again.

Our parents put up a six-foot high chain link fence at the boarders of our property in the spirit of cooperation. After thanking Mr. Danvers for saving their little girls lives.

Thus began Charlene's life-long obsession with Jeremy Danvers and wolves. Thus began my desire to be anywhere so long as it was at least a hundred miles _away_ from them.

I stared at the painting on the opposite wall, the abstract of a wolf in shadow. "Is that one of his?"

"Dad commissioned it from Jeremy for my graduation present," She beamed. "I could never afford a Danvers Original on my own."

"But that hasn't stopped you from buying prints."

"He's a great artist."

"Does Elijah think so?"

She grinned anew. "He loves me. He loves my obsession. So stop stalling and spill everything, already! I know Aunt Karen spoke with him. Did you see him?"

"No," I lied. "From the way the truck was parked, I didn't get a good glimpse of whom she spoke with. I think it was Clayton Danvers."

Her expression wilted. "Clayton," she huffed. "He's great eye-candy; don't get me wrong, but the brooding personality kind of kills it for me."

"Spoken like a blushing bride about to marry the love of her life."

Her smile returned. "I'm getting married, I'm not dying. Besides, you know I'd never cheat on Elijah. Mama Sophia would eat my spleen for lunch, for one. For another, don't you have someone that is your fantasy man? Every girl does."

"Captain America," I said instantly.

She gave me a lop-sided grin. "Really? A comic book character."

"He's about as attainable as your crush."

"Fantasy," she corrected primly. "Girls have crushes. Women have fantasies."

I thought back to that first vision, and then the vision of today, and suppressed a shudder. Suppressed, too, the need to correct my sister and tell her that not all women had fantasies. Some had nightmares instead.

* * *

Life in Bear Valley didn't improve much after that first vision. It was as if whatever power that existed in Stonehaven unlocked something inside me and threw open the proverbial floodgate. My soul decided to jump in on the fun and took my newfound abilities out for a test drive before learning how to use the breaks or steer.

Little things would assault my senses, randomly triggering what I called mini-visions. I'd know when my teacher was having a bad day before she walked into the classroom and what would happen if I irritated her. I knew the day before Mr. Kittinger had his heart attack, and tried to stop Thomas Barston from walking into the path of a speeding truck. Likewise, I knew when mom and dad would fight before they did, and made arrangements for me and Char to spend the night elsewhere.

It was also how I knew Malcolm Danvers was a very bad man, and that he was doing mean things to Clayton.

I remembered the way Clay was hot to the touch against my tiny hand when I'd found him beneath the bleachers in the gym, hiding from the Big Bad Wolf. He'd never come out and called it that, but that's what my little mind termed anything that was scary. After that night on Stonehaven, the monster under my bed became wolf-shaped. Things in the shadows became wolf-shaped. Even my personal demons ghosted inside my soul like ethereal wolves.

"It's okay," I'd told him. "The Big Bad Wolf can't get you here."

"Yes, it can. It'll get me, and it'll get you, too, if I don't stop it."

He'd started to cry then, rocking back and forth with his legs pulled up to his chest. A quiet child with eyes that carried a weight far too heavy for his young age. Like my father's eyes when he'd talked about what he'd seen during his military service in the Middle East. I'd seen it, too, when I'd touched Dad's hand. I'd seen children blown to pieces by parents that believed they were sending them to heaven when they strapped bombs to their chests. Good men like my father screaming as they shot those kids rather than let them kill hundreds of others.

Clay Danvers had had eyes like my father's at the tender age of ten, haunted by horrors no human—no matter their age—should have seen.

"Then we'll stop it together," I'd answered, taking a seat next to him.

"No, you'll only get hurt."

"No, I won't. I'm magic."

He'd scrubbed a hand beneath his nose, sniffling. "Magic isn't real."

"Then neither is the Big Bad Wolf."

"Uh-huh, he's real. I've seen him."

"I've seen magic."

"Show me," he challenged.

"It doesn't work that way. And look, you've stopped shaking. You've stopped crying. See, I'm magic. I stopped that. Want to share my lunch? I've got an apple and some carrots and p-b-and-j."

The shadows had left his eyes, leaving behind the boy he should have been. "What's Pee Bee and Jay?"

"Peanut butter and jelly," I'd laughed, offering him half of my sandwich. "You've never had it before?"

He shook his head. "No. I didn't have much before—before Dad found me."

"Have some now," I urged, trying to coax him back. "Then we'll play on the swings. I like swings."

"I like you."

I'd giggled, giggled that little girl laugh that many called innocence incarnate. "I like you, too, even if you're a boy."

"What's wrong with being a boy?"

"Everything. Boys have cooties."

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

He poked me in the side. "Now you have cooties, too, then."

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Those darker shadows crossed his eyes, like the tolling of that bell meant he was that much closer to returning to something unpleasant.

"Don't go home tonight," I blurted, taking his hand again. Feeling pain in his future even if I couldn't see it clearly. "Come home with me instead."

"I can't. I'll get in more trouble."

"He's hurting you. The Big Bad Wolf is hurting you, isn't he?"

And then he put his arm around my shoulders, hugging me in a grown-up expression of comfort. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'll always be okay."

Clay wasn't in school the next day, or the next, or the day after that. Our teacher informed us that Clay had transferred out. And while we normally spent a day writing letters to our departed schoolmate, instructions had be left to skip that part of our small town tradition. Clayton Danvers vanished from our childhood lives, reappearing just before he headed off to college.

In fact, he was the last person I saw when I ran from Bear Valley for what I'd hoped was the final time.

* * *

I was twelve when I told Mommy to not invite Mr. Edgar over this time to have a "pillow fight" (what other euphemism for sex could a twelve year old come up with?) because Daddy was coming home early, that shit hit the proverbial fan. Needless to say, my little slip-up's with the visions here and there turned me from that 'creepy kid' to something most people avoided like the plague. Including my parents.

When Char came home with a black eye because some moron thought she was me, I decided it was time to change things up. Hence my never-ending obsession with goth culture. No one was going to hurt my sister again on my account. And besides, enough people called me a witch to my face that it only seemed appropriate to dress that way.

All of Bear Valley let out a collective sigh of relief when I ran away at sixteen. One nutjob gone, they'd said. A whole family of nutjobs left to go. Of course they were referring to the Danvers. However, the Danvers were kind enough to keep their crazy to themselves on their lands and not live in the middle of the normal people like I had.

I'd run into Clay a few times since that ill-fated childhood lunch in third grade. Brushes of shoulders at the deli counter, nodding to each other across the pumps at one of the gas stations. The usual, unavoidable contact that happened when one existed in a small town. He'd grown from that skinny boy into a man that looked like he could crush rocks with his hands. I suppose I'd grown as well, because the look in his eyes wasn't haunted like it had been back then. Okay, I take that back. It was haunted with the normal appreciation a man had for a woman he found attractive.

So imagine my surprise when I ran into him in the last gas station in town. And I mean literally ran into him, as in my face into his not-all-that-unimpressive chest. His hands landed on my shoulders, catching me before I bounced off his brick wall.

"Jesus," I hissed. "Put a bell around your neck or something, Clayton Danvers. You'll give people heart failure if you keep this up."

He spared a tiny smile for me. "You were going to leave without saying goodbye."

It wasn't a question, though I felt like I owed him an answer. "Yeah."

He blinked. "Yeah? That's all you have to say?"

The familiar heat of his hands sank into the skin of my shoulders, something that was welcoming and frightening all at once. Trying to shrug beneath his palms was like trying to tell Atlas to shrug off the world. It just wasn't happening.

"There isn't much more to say," I glanced away. "I've overstayed my welcome five years too long, if you know what I mean."

"Bear Valley is your home, Lotte, just like it's mine."

Instinct had me trying to shrug again and reaching the same results as before. "The other seven thousand nine-hundred and ninety-eight residents might disagree with you."

"Seven thousand nine-hundred and ninety-four," he corrected with another slow, sultry smile. "Your sister and your aunt want you to stay, too."

"Is that how you found me? My Aunt and sister sent you?"

He shrugged. "Your sister did at any rate. She figured I could talk you out of it."

"And why would she think that?"

The look he sent my way transformed us both to nine-years-old again, and I felt suspiciously like we were hiding beneath the bleachers once more. I could almost taste the PB&J on my tongue. Whatever had happened in the seven years between then and now hadn't erased that instant trust between us. I had a feeling that no matter where we went in life, we'd always be able to trust one another. Some people you just knew would haunt you all the days of your life.

Clayton Danvers was one of those ghosts that never truly faded from memory.

He gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze before letting go. "If I can't convince you to stay, then take this," He pulled a roll of Benjamins from his pocket. "You'll need it wherever you go."

I stared at the money and shook my head. There had to be at least a grand there. I knew the Danvers family had to have money to maintain the massive tracts of land they owned, but this? "I don't need charity, Clay—"

"Consider it a high school graduation present. If not that, then consider it a loan. You owe me now, and one day I want you to pay me back. No now, and not in the next year. But one day, you and I will meet again in Bear Valley, and I expect you to succeed in life enough to pay me back without breaking a sweat. We clear, darling?"

I did need the money. Stars above knew my scholarships weren't going to get me a fraction of the way through my schooling. The money he offered wouldn't even cover a full semester. But it would ensure I had something in my stomach that wasn't rummaged from a garbage dumpster. I swallowed my pride—and a sudden rush of tears—and closed my hands over the cash.

"You stay in touch," he ordered, planting a quick kiss on my forehead. "I want to know you're okay."

"No promises."

One eyebrow arched as he backed away a step. "Don't make me hunt you down, Charlotte Morgan. I can and will," he tapped the side of his nose. "I'm good at it."

I snorted. "You aren't the Big Bad Wolf."

"No, I'm something far more dangerous."

My soft laugh was a little strained as I got into my car. He was being serious, I realized. He really thought he could do what claimed. And as I drove away for what I hoped was my last time, I watched him in the rearview mirror. Watched him watching me until the trees swallowed him from view.

"I'm okay, Clayton Danvers. I'll always be okay."

I tried not to want the feeling of his arm over my shoulder, hugging me in comfort.


	3. You Should Not Be Here

A/N: Slight nod to Grey's Anatomy in this chapter (not a crossover). I couldn't help it. :)

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, I didn't love Clayton Danvers. The fact that he went off to college at the same time I did was pure coincidence. We went to two different colleges, in two different states, on the opposite sides of the US. I'd gone to UCSF in California, he'd gone to some Ivey league school in the north. The fact that we used each other as a convenient excuse NOT to date anyone else was just a fact of life.

Fact: Sorry, I can't date you. I'm in this.. .thing… with this guy named Clay back home.

Fact: Sorry, I can't date you. I'm in this… thing… with this girl name Lotte back home.

It was also a fact that we only spoke to each other twice a year. I'd call in the summer; he'd call in the winter. And I always said the same thing. "I'm okay, Clay. It's okay. I'll always be okay."

"I'll make sure, darling," His southern accent drawing the word into DAW-lin more times than not.

"Whatever, Clay. Just take care of you, too."

What can I say? It worked for us.

I'd attended his graduation ceremony for his doctorate, hiding in the crowd and leaving a gift without saying anything. He'd done the same for me. When I'd sent the check for exactly one thousand three hundred dollars to him via the mail, Jeremy Danvers was the one that returned the check. With a lovely letter stating that Clay was in Africa doing post-doctorate anthropology work. But that he'd received instructions from Clay to return the check, that there was some sort of deal in place where I had to return the money in person.

In Bear Valley.

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

There were other bits of platitudes in the hand-written letter, Jeremy's concise yet perfect script the closest thing to a hug I'd had in years. Words like how proud he and Clay were of my achievements in medicine. How they were sad we couldn't have spoken at Clay's graduation. How he'd heard that my twin had passed the New York State Bar exam, and that Aunt Karen had finally been promoted to Sheriff of Bear Valley.

Did I mention the letter was inside a carefully rolled section of canvas containing one of Jeremy's works? An abstract painting, of course, but I knew what it was. Two children hiding in the darkness, a bright light of hope and friendship insulating them from the cold. It was my graduation present; inspired by Clay and created by Jeremy. To this day, I never told Charlene about it. Maybe that makes me a bad sister? Probably.

The fact that Jeremy Danvers had noticed me in the background of that massive graduation ceremony for Clay's class was both comfort and creepy all at once. More comfort than creepy, but then again anything from "home" held a creepy vibe for me most days. My new home was at Seattle Grace teaching hospital in Washington. My new family was the group of interns that had made it to residency with me.

As Elsa had said in the only Disney movie I've ever enjoyed, I'd "let it go and slammed the door" on my former life. Except for my twice a year call from Clay, which was occasionally a call from Jeremy when Clay was in the strange, untamed parts of the world. And the conversation was always the same. I was okay. He was okay. I wanted to mail him a check. He would reject it.

Further proof that nothing in my life was normal.

These were the thoughts that danced behind my eyes as my fingertips tripped across the chain-link fence separating the Morgan property line from that of the Danvers. The thing practically glowed in the moonlight. Newly replaced, I'd noticed, and I wondered if that had anything to do with the wolf attacks that Aunt Karen had mentioned. That was probably the excuse that our parents had given. No one ever talked about the event that lead to its erection, and it was only years later when I was in my internship that I'd found out why. Or rather, Char had.

Apparently there was more to the fence agreement than a verbal acceptance. There was a life-estate tied to it. For as long as the Danvers held the property on one side and the Morgans held the property on the other, there would be a fence in between. A clear demarcation—the only one of its kind in Bear Valley—that had to be maintained. Money was set into a joint account from both sides, used to fix or replace the fence when needed.

It had been nearly twenty years since Charlene and I had run into those wolves. Now it seemed the wolves had returned and had killed.

And there I was, about to be stupid again. For some reason, I needed to see that pond again. I needed to see where Char's life should have ended—where mine should have ended—and maybe find out if there was any way to escape the blood that would follow my sister's wedding.

There was a part of me that expected all sorts of alarms to go off when I climbed that fence, leaping down to the other side. Into the Forbidden Forest of my childhood. Nothing but the sound of dead leaves crunching beneath my feet, and the thrumming of my own heartbeat kicked into overdrive. I started to run. This was such a bad idea, worse than any other idea I'd had before.

Worse than agreeing to come to Bear Valley.

I ran until my lungs were burning, until my breath misted the chill autumn air. I had no idea where I was heading, trusting memory and whatever it was inside me that let those visions happen, to guide my feet. The pond came into view and I slowed, crouching down with hands on my knees as I drew in ragged breath after breath. Stars, but it felt good. It felt so good. There were literally no places in Seattle where a girl could do this, could just cut loose and run and run and run.

I made a mental note to look into purchasing a massive tract of land when I returned home. If I mortgaged my condo, I might have enough.

It was surprising and yet not that the pond in question was smooth, undisturbed. As if time had not touched it in two decades. That bothered me. Shouldn't there be leaves floating on its surface? Shouldn't there be, I don't know, some animal or something to ruffle the waters? Flat glasslike liquid greeted my gaze. And it was then that I noticed the hush, the unnatural quiet that permeated the area. So silent, so… empty. Like a pocket of time held in pause.

To go with the town that time forgot.

I knelt down by the pond, feeling that familiar tingling in my fingertips. My hand stretched out, passing within inches of the surface. And I saw… saw the wedding again reflected in that not-right surface. Myself in the pink dress, the autumn leaves like butterflies in the lazy autumn breeze. Teresa walked forward in a dress that put mine to shame for its fluffiness. Layers upon layers of tulle in her ball gown, the pure white bodice dotted with enough crystal to make Elizabeth Taylor jealous.

The blood started at the altar, at my very feet. A single dot of crimson welling on the steps of the gazebo, the one in the center of the town, and the clock tower struck out the time. Midnight. Somehow midnight though the sun was just starting to set. The sound was wrong, distorted and mocking. And the pinprick of red turned into a thin rivulet, heading rapidly towards Teresa's dress. I tried to step on it, to squash it down. I didn't want anything to ruin her day. Her beautiful day.

The step shattered beneath my feet, and a geyser of red shot up into the sky, a fountain of scarlet pouring over us all. I screamed. Kept screaming… and no one reacted. Not a single guest. Not the preacher. Not the groom, not even the bride—

I threw myself backward, away from the vision, from the nightmare that had haunted me all these years. Scrambling backward until I put some distance between myself and the pond.

"Miss Morgan, you should not be here."

As if I had conjured him from memory, Jeremy Danvers stood on that ridge above my head. Well, standing wasn't the right word. He knelt, gazing down at me. Something dark turning the blue of his eyes into polished sapphires. Unreadable and … dangerous, with the moonlight throwing his shadow down across myself and the pond, causing me to shiver with more than just the cold. Maybe it was my imagination, or maybe it was memories of this place, but to me that shadow looked vaguely wolf-like.

He tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly in concern. "Are you alright?"

No. I wasn't. Not by a long shot. "Yes," I said, the word taking two attempts to come out in some form that was understandable. "And yes, you're right. I shouldn't be here. I was just—"

Trespassing? Having a vision? Scaring the life out of myself? Praying you don't call my Aunt? God, how embarrassing would that be, to be brought back home in the back of my Aunt's squad car like I was that rebellious teen all over again.

He stood, picking his way carefully but with a quick familiarity, down the all-too familiar ridge. "You shouldn't be here," he said again, extending a hand.

What else could I do? I took it, letting him help me to my feet. "I… I know. I'm sorry. It was dumb and offensive and strangely nostalgic. And none of that is an excuse," I finished quickly. "I understand if you want to press charges."

His hand was warm, nearly burning against mine, as his eyes flicked to the pond. "It's dangerous to be here alone. But I understand the nostalgia. This is where we found your sister, isn't it."

I tried not to wince at the word "found." It sounded too much like she really had drowned in that pond, that somewhere in that eerie water a nine year old girl floated endlessly. Waiting for rescue.

"Yes," I replied, eyes locked onto that water. "I don't know why I needed to see it. I… was hoping to find some peace there."

"Did you find it?"

This time I couldn't hide the flinch. "No, I think I found more pain."

"Chasing the shadows of the past often lead down that road," he said, one hand gently touching the small of my back, guiding me away from the water. "While I understand the sentiment, I much prefer if you call ahead before you decide to visit."

A herd of hellhounds couldn't drag my ass back to that pond after what I'd seen. "Trust me," I murmured, trying a smile of my own. "I never want to see that water again. The past has been laid to rest."

He smiled softly in return, a faint upturning of his lips. And when I shivered again, the hand on my back pulled me in closer to him. Not in a suggestive way, but more a gentlemanly offer to shield me from the cold as much as he could. I was struck by the heat that came from him, much like it had from Clay. Almost too much to be normal.

Almost too much to resist.

I was turning towards him before I knew it, one hand pressed lightly to his chest. His eyes turned to mine, questioningly. And I didn't even get the warning tingles this time before the vision climbed up my spine and sledgehammered me right between the eyes. My knees buckled, prompting him grab me with both arms, to close the distance between our bodies.

The world tilted, blurred out of focus, and fell backwards in on itself. Until I was that girl again and the wolf stood over me. I gazed into its too-intelligent eyes, saw it tipping its head from side to side. My hand fell upon its paw like it did in reality, and the spark that ignited between us was had the wolf recoiling and me screaming. And for the slightest of moments, I saw more than I had before. I saw something that stole my breath and made my sanity explode in a chorus of IT-CAN'T-BE's!

I swore I saw the wolf start to change, to become… a man.

A man with Jeremy Danvers' eyes.


	4. Tradition of My Own

A/N: Another slight nod to Grey's Anatomy here (still not a crossover). Spoilers sort of for Season One: Episodes Three and Four.

* * *

They'd found me just inside the Morgan property fence line, ironically about the same spot where I'd jumped the fence in the first place. I had no memory of how I'd gotten back, or ended up in the yard instead of a hospital. I didn't know Jeremy Danvers well enough to understand why he'd done this, when it could have been easier to toss the "witch" in jail overnight and have a restraining order issued before I'd made bail. Come to think of it, I don't think anyone really knew Jeremy Danvers at all.

Out of everyone in Bear Valley, his reputation was only slightly less dismal than mine. Okay, dismal was probably an unfair assessment. The people just didn't know him, given the entire Danvers family preferred their space. They gave the term "social introvert" a new freaking meaning when it came to their love of isolation. Which, in any small town, meant they were hiding something even when they weren't. Being the _de facto_ patron of the family when Malcolm Danvers left, that meant the suspicions and rumors shifted to Jeremy's head instead.

Long story short, the people of Bear Valley knew about as much about him as they did about me: that being what they could find on the internet. Again, not the best way to win the Congeniality Award at the Town Fair.

Still, he inspired the warm-and-fuzzy's in people at about same rate that I did. The only difference being that people smiled politely on those rare occasions when he walked through town. Me? Oh, they didn't bother to hide the negative glances. I was mildly surprised that they didn't have pitchforks and a bonfire with my name on it the day I returned for Char's wedding.

When mom and dad found me, I pretended amnesia brought on by too much drink and not enough food. You know, what everyone expects when you dress like a punk rocker all the time. Jeremy was probably counting on that, anyway. Don't ask me how I knew that. It was just another glorious impulse like jumping into Aunt Karen's car and heading off to the last place I should have ever visited aside from this town. If I told everyone that we'd chatted, it would bring up the issue that I had been on Stonehaven property without permission. If I didn't… well… everyone got to live their nice little tidy lives, now didn't they?

"First you try to leave without saying goodbye, and now you show up without saying hello."

I about coughed coffee all over the counter of the Bear Valley Diner. Clay Danvers slid onto the stool next to me, but that wasn't the only thing that had me attempting to cough up a lung. The blond from my vision slid up next to him. She moved like a dancer, like grace was built into her body from birth. More than that, she moved like she was… I don't know, dangerous somehow. More than the danger that came from a lifetime of studying martial arts.

Which matched the look on her face, truth be told.

She was trying to look like she was here because she wanted to be, but I could spot the look of someone that didn't want to be where they were. I'd had a lifetime of trying to do just that. The slightly strained smile, the way she leaned away from Clay instead of towards him. It spoke volumes about the tension between them.

I took a moment longer to swallow my shock and plaster a bit of a smile on my own lips. "Hey, Clay!" I rasped. "I was… eventually… going to come and see you."

His smile was about a strained as the blonds', but it was still warm. And warm from Clay was the equivalent of jumping-up-and-down-happy from anyone else. I let him pull me into a tight hug, not needing to feign delight in it. Aside from Char and Aunt Karen, this was the first warm welcome I'd recieved since coming home. And it lasted long enough that the blond raised an eyebrow slightly.

"It's good to see you," I grinned in spite of my misgivings, in spite of the way that Clay's eyes traveled all over the diner instead of locking onto mine. Searching for something. Something that made the unease in me turn into a cold lump in my stomach. "All the world traveling paid off," I tried again. "You look like you should be chilling in the Hamptons with a glass of Champaign with that tan you're rocking."

"And you look—"

"If the next words coming out of your mouth are 'scary,' 'frightening,' or 'like you could star in a Marilyn Manson video' I'm going to kick you in the face right here and now."

The blond tried to hide a snicker behind a sip of coffee.

"I was going to say like a breath of fresh air," Clay smirked, eyeing Blondie a moment. "If you like, I could change that to something else."

I rolled my eyes, but that was pretty much for show. It did feel good to hear someone saying something nice about me for a change. "Always the charmer."

"That's one way to put it," Blondie muttered.

I glanced over at her, at the way Clay just raised an eyebrow as if to say 'really?,' and held out my hand. "I'm Charlotte. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Elena," she replied, gripping my hand with a firm shake. "A pleasure. Clay's told me a lot about you."

The heat from her hand was about on par to Jeremy's last night, and as I glanced into her eyes, I thought for a second I saw that same shadow. Like a wolf glancing back at me from deep inside her. Which was crazy… wasn't it?

Was it any crazier than that vision of me in a cage? I shivered, withdrawing my hand. "Sorry, the weather here is cooler than it is in Seattle, believe it or not. I'm slightly chilled."

Yeah, right. That's exactly why rivers of cold sweat were Niagra Fall'ing down my spine right about then. Because I was cold.

Elena gave me one of those politely distant smiles that said she really didn't have time to chat at the moment. "It's okay. This place gives me the chills, too."

Again, she and Clay exchanged a look that made marble seem warm in comparison. When he gripped his menu like he wanted to rip it to shreds rather than read it, I started fishing a couple of bucks out of my pocket. I had enough troubles to deal with without my pseudo-adopted-not-really-brother and his gorgeous not-girl-friend's drama. Troubles like visions of blood and death and a dirt road where Antonio Sorrentino would lose his life.

Stars above, what was I going to do? March right up to Stonehaven and demand that Jeremy give me Antonio's phone number so I could warn him to say off roads lined with trees for the rest of his life? It wasn't like I could give him a time frame or even a reference location! All I knew was that he would die soon, and when I had those kinds of visions, they were rarely wrong.

Now the coffee in my gut was warring with the unease to see which one would make me upchuck first.

"Listen, Charlotte," Elena was saying, reaching across Clay again to touch my hand lightly. "I'd really like to chat with you sometime, as I'm certain Clay would, but we're a little busy right now. Would you mind?"

"Mind? Nope, not at all," I replied quickly, laying down a few extra bills. "In fact, breakfast is on me. This place is getting a little crowded anyway."

"No, Lotte, we can move to a different—"

"No, it's okay. I'm in town for a while for Char's wedding. It's not like you don't know where I'm staying. Come on by if you have time."

He looked like he wanted to say something more, and then changed his mind abruptly. "Later," he promised, squeezing my hand. "Come by Stonehaven. I'm sure Jeremy would like to speak with you, too."

If I wasn't already pale from the nausea in my middle, that last sentence would have been the one to plunge me into Guilty Expression Land. In fact, Elena's gaze snapped to me so hard I nearly felt it like a blow. She didn't miss it. And for a moment I nearly leaned in and asked her if she had any love for cages.

"Yeah, I'll do that," I said to his slightly confused expression. "Tell you what, you set up the time and I'll be there. I know how busy your dad is and how he likes his privacy."

"You're nearly my kid sister in his eyes, Lotte. I'm sure—"

"Trust me," I cut him off again, trying not to think back to the night before. "Let him choose the time. I have a feeling you all have had enough with trespassers of late."

Elena's gaze was practically burning through my skull. "Yes, we have," she attempted a charming smile of her own. Nearly succeeded, too, if not for the intensity of her stare. "What have you heard?"

"That that poor child was found on Stonehaven land," I whispered. "I know you all had nothing to do with that. But many around here are hurting from the deaths of three people now and won't give you the benefit of the doubt. Be careful, okay."

I nodded my head slightly to the right, watching Elena and Clay take in the booth by the door. Or more to the point, the three-pack of Braxtons that had just populated it. Of all the families that called Bear Valley their 'ancestral home,' the Braxtons weren't known for being the most intelligent. In fact, I'd often met children that had more brain cells to rub together than the whole lot of them. They were simple folk, factory workers that passed down the job from generation to generation. All loved hunting more than they loved breathing, and loved drinking beer and boasting about their various hunts even more than that.

Hell, I think they loved their dogs more than they loved their wives.

Again, not bad people, all said and done. They paid their taxes and enlisted in the armed forces like everyone else. They just… expected life to flow in a particular order, I suppose was the best way to describe it. When that order was upset, they tended to get rather upset. Unfortunately so did their guns.

Three upset Braxton's all touting shotguns would have been enough for me to decide to be anywhere else. Clay and Elena looked at them like they were the first interesting thing they'd found in weeks. And wouldn't you know it, they stared right back with equal hostility. I shook my head.

"Go," Clay urged quietly. "Head straight to your car and drive home. Don't stop anywhere, and don't question. Just go. We'll be right behind you."

I got up and headed for the door. Nearly made it, too, before one of the Flannel Shotgun Clan muttered sneered at me and muttered the word "witch."

I should have kept walking. It wasn't like this was the first time I'd heard it that word. But after that hug from Clay, that sincere warmth in having me in his presence, I couldn't help but hunch my shoulders a little. Which had Clay on his feet in a flash. That, and something they said about their family member named Michael.

"Clay," I warned, taking a step away from them and planting both hands on his chest. "Clay, it's okay."

"Sure it is, darling," he replied, not bothering to look at me, his eyes fixated on the closest Braxton waste of space. "Why don't you tell Michael Braxton to come see me when he has the chance," he said to them. "We'll settle up things then."

Whatever the hell _that_ meant.

And to my surprise, Clay gently took my elbow in his hand and started to lead me out the door. Again, I made it maybe two steps before one of the morons turned on his heel and drove that meat hammer he called a fist straight at Clay's back. I opened my mouth to scream out a warning—

-and just suddenly Elena was there, catching that man's fist in her small hand like it was made of air. She shoved, and down went the idiot in question. I snapped my mouth shut as Clay all but shoved me out the door, Elena quick on his heels.

* * *

It should have been no surprise that two packages arrived at the house later that day. One was for me. One was for Charlene. And both were from Stonehaven.

I sat in the corner of my parent's livingroom, listening to Laura Monroe, Tammi Edison, Rachel Thompson, and the rest of my sister's closest gal-pals all giggling. My mother and grandmother sat with them, whispering the secrets of how to be a successful wife and pretending to gasp in shame as Char opened packages containing dainty lingerie for use on her honeymoon. For the millionth time, I tried not to roll my eyes. Char was a good girl, but dollars to nothing, she and Elijah had already had their "wedding night."

Had it years before he proposed, and probably would have it several times this evening, too. Ah, the joys of the Bridal Shower.

But antiquated traditions were still traditions, and for the next week everyone would treat Charlene Morgan as if she was a pure as the driven snow. They also followed another not so old tradition, of treating me like I didn't exist. Oh, there was the fair share of thinly veiled threats behind paper-thin smiles. Polite questions about how life was in Seattle, and implications that if I loved it so much there, why had I come home to Bear Valley to pollute their safe little world with my horrific presence.

There was even a whispered word that sounded just like "witch" but began with a "B." I'll let you decide what it was.

I tried to let that all glance off of me, sipping the sherbet punch in my glass and borrowing Elena's polite expression from this morning. It was harder than I thought, given that I'd grown up with almost everyone in this room. Tammi had been my best friend before… before that night at Stonehaven. Now she was a mother in her own right, with an eight year old daughter and a three year old son. Married to Nevel Edison, who was now a supervisor at one of the plants.

Now I might as well be some crack addict pawing at her for spare coins on the street.

I reached a hand into the pocket of my black (yes, I was still wearing black head to toe, and with all piercings in place) pants, feeling for the umpteenth millionth time the folded edges of the letter. Jeremy's handwriting spelled out a simple invitation to come for lunch three days from now. That was what had been in my package.

My breath caught as Char reached the last gift in her pile, the one that had come from Stonehaven. The package that had arrived today for her. I even leaned forward on my seat, not knowing what to expect.

Char's face lit up with elation and reverence as she removed a small sculpture from its packing. Another abstract, as seemed to be Jeremy's artistic bent these days, but I could make out what it was. Two souls entwined, becoming one, beneath a star that represented the sky and all possible dreams. The pale wood nearly glowed beneath her fingers.

Everyone followed her lead, gasping at the beauty of the piece.

"'Dear Charlene Morgan,'" she read aloud breathlessly. "'In appreciation for your patronage of Mr. Danvers' art over the years and in honor of your upcoming nuptials, please accept this gift. Sincerely, Maximilian Grant, Agent for Mr. Jeremy Danvers.'"

"I told you we should have invited him to the wedding," Char snapped at Mom, though the sting in her words was mellowed by the delight in her gift. "He's so thoughtful."

"His agent is so thoughtful," Mom replied with a sniff. "Thoughtful regarding all that money your father spent on that artwork."

"Still, Jeremy didn't have to do this."

"Mr. Danvers," Mom corrected, her own snap of rebuke softened by the joy that her one good daughter—the one she actually acknowledged—was getting married. "Is surely too busy to attend the wedding of every one of his clients. We had trouble narrowing down the guest list as it was."

Translation: I don't want Jeremy Danvers here anymore than I want your twin here. Thank god only one of them has to be present to ruin a perfect day.

She didn't even have the courage to look at me. My own mother. Because she knew I knew what she had meant, even if Char was too blinded—rightly so—with joy to hear the backhanded slap that was sent my way. Tammi heard it, and so did a few of the others, and they hid nods of agreement behind sips of punch held delicately in mom's good crystal glasses.

All perfect. So perfect in their prejudiced ignorance and pastel floral dresses in the muted floral tones of mom's formal living room. Sipping pastel punch. While I stood out like the smear of shit that they all thought I was.

That was about all I could take. I, at least, had the presence of mind to slip quietly out of the room. Out of the house, even, so I wouldn't ruin Char's day.

It figured that I'd end up in the backyard, running through the acres and still feeling as if I couldn't breathe. There was a part of me that wanted to grab my keys and head to the airport, to just go home to Seattle where I wasn't weird or a witch, where my mind was nurtured and appreciated. Where Dr. Weber called me one of his brightest residents, and Christina, Meredith and I battled it out for the best surgeries.

Stars, but I wanted to go home.

I hit the fence with a slam, hands locking onto the chain link, fighting not to feel like it was an ever shrinking cage. My eyes closed, forehead pressed to that cold steel, trying so hard to reach for the bubble of detachment that had been my second skin for so much of my life. A bubble stripped away by Clay's hug and friendships back home at Seattle Grace.

I barely felt it when fingers closed over mine from the other side, warm fingers that squeezed gently. My head snapped up, and then hung loosely on my shoulders in defeat. What, did he have a freaking sixth sense or something? How did he know to show up every time I was hurting?

"Mr. Danvers," I greeted flatly, pressing my forehead to the fence and closing my eyes again. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Mr. Danvers," Jeremy echoed, a soft humor in his tone. "I think that's the first time I've heard you call me that."

I shrugged a shoulder. "Mother insisted. Young ladies are to have proper manners and sip punch and never speak a word of rudeness."

"Then you'll call me Jeremy, by your mother's own admonition. I'll find it rude otherwise."

I glanced up then, especially when his fingers locked with mine, staring at him through the fence. Staring into a heavy sorrow that felt close to my own. Loss, and longing. Wanting something so much and knowing it was forever gone from your grasp. I held his fingers tightly with my own.

"What is it?" I whispered, taking that final step until we would have been in each other's space without that fence between us. "Jeremy, what's happened?"

It was his turn to glance away a moment. "Nothing to concern yourself with, Lotte," when he looked back, the sorrow was buried beneath his gaze. "I was curious to know if you've received the packages."

"You know we did and don't try to change the subject. What's happened?"

"Did you read my letter?"

"I did. Jeremy—"

"Will you accept my invitation to lunch?"

"Of course," I said instantly, and then bit my lip. "Look, I still owe you an apology about the other night."

"No apology needed. I owe one to you. I wasn't in the best—"

My turn to cut him off. "No, I was trespassing. You don't have to make excuses for me."

His smile was a touch lopsided, but at least it was real this time. It made his entire posture change, made him seem to stand taller somehow. To just be… Jeremy. My fingertips tingled against his, seemed to drink in the warmth of his skin, and I saw the shadows of responsibility swarming around him. So much responsibility, like an ocean of necessary duties that threatened to drown him at any moment.

And memories… such dark memories associated with those responsibilities. Black smears of things that stained his soul with something darker than the void of space. While the lighter, wispy specters of the stains yet to come impatiently waited their turn to strip another layer of joy from his life. To take away another person that made him whole.

Because that's what had happened to him. He'd lost someone recently, so recently that the wound in his heart was still fountaining loss all over his soul.

Oh stars, please let it not be Antonio. Let it not be too late…

"Lotte?"

I blinked, realizing that he'd asked me something, and I'd been too busy staring at his personal demons to notice.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said if I could not make excuses _for_ you, then I expected to receive none _from_ you concerning my invitation to lunch," Concern colored his eyes, chased away the warmth of before. "What is it?"

My laugh was more a self-depreciating whimper than a laugh. "Tell me your woes and I'll tell you mine?"

Those fingers squeezed again. "I'm afraid there isn't enough time left in your visit for that."

"Or enough scotch in all of Bear Valley."

His turn to chuckle. "Your family needs you, Lotte. Go back to them and enjoy the party."

I felt his fingers slide from mine, saw him start to fade into the lengthening shadows of evening. And something in me snapped. "Jeremy!"

He turned, eyebrows lifted questioningly.

"Is Antonio Sorrentino with you right now?"

It was amazing how he could do that, how the concerned man could suddenly vanish and the cool, protective… well... _wolf-like_ for lack of a better term… dangerousness would take its place. I felt my eyes widen, watching those shadows of evening take on that feral blurriness from the other night. As if Stonehaven and its lands responded to the flicker of his every mood.

"He is."

"Keep him with you, okay?" I managed out between suddenly stiff lips. "I… Look, just do that. You, uh, look as if you need it. You need to talk to someone, and if it can't be me, then talk to him."

As if it were a tradition of my own, I turned my back on a Danvers man and left Jeremy standing in the shadows as I headed back inside. Feeling as if his eyes followed my retreating form throughout the house long after I'd closed and locked the back door.


	5. The White Witch of Stonehaven

A/N: A little more Grey's Anatomy in this chapter. Again, no intentions of making this a regular crossover kind of thing.

* * *

I had about twenty-four hours of being Danvers-free. Meaning that much time had passed without the need for me to violate Stonehaven space nor for Clayton or Jeremy to randomly manifest in my path. It was almost… nice. Granted, I didn't go anywhere for the next day. I was stuck at the dining room table with my sister and mother, weaving tiny strands of pearls around little gossamer bags stuffed with Jordan almonds. Each little bag was in turn stuffed into a silver votive candle holder etched with Char's and Elijah's names and the date of the wedding.

The making of the wedding favors was supposed to be a loving tradition within the bride's family. We should have been having Hallmark moments. Just me, mom, and Char. And Mama Sophia, too. In fact, when Mama Sophia was at the table, she and I had great conversations. I even cracked a smile or two.

When she left to rest, dead silence was our companion. Except for the rare moments when mom tried to spout bad marital advice from somewhere in the range of 1950. Things like how Char was going to have to make time for Elijah, how she might want to retire from the law firm in a year when she and Elijah have their first child. How things like having dinner ready when he got home from work was like saying 'I love you' without the words. Because his job was obviously ten times more stressful than hers.

Nevermind the fact that Elijah was a web designer that worked from home and loved to cook. While Char was like me: a career-minded woman whose only cooking feat involved burning water in a microwave. My twin and I both worked long hours at challenging jobs. Giving all that up to play Suzie Homemaker? So not happening.

Ever.

Mom stopped with the Leave-It-To-Beaver routine after I'd had enough and said that last part out loud. Char pretending to criticize me for it, but her eyes shown with a kind of relief that was almost beautiful. Silence became our companion, punctuated here and there by tiny smiles shared between myself and Char. Slashed with outright frowns of utter disapproval from mom every time I turned my head quickly to make all the piercings in my ears clatter together. On purpose. Because I knew it irritated her to no end.

Petty? Why, yes. Yes, I was. Childish, too? Abso-freaking-loutely. And I wore those two words like badges of honor.

The moment the last lover's knot was tied on the last little bag, I was out the door. Destination: No clue. Population: Me.

If I had been home in Seattle, I would have made for the nearest goth/industrial bar and danced until my legs fell off. Given that this was literally the town that time forgot, I ended up back at the Bear Valley Diner. The holes-in-the-walls that passed for bars in town had their regulars, many of whom had heard of mine and Clay's little incident at the diner the day before (trust me, this town kept nothing to itself). They wouldn't want me there, and I had no desire to find out if they really did have a stake to burn me on.

There were no nightclubs, and any single-night warehouse party had been closed down indefinitely thanks to that rabid wolf killing two people at the last one, before finding its eternal rest courtesy of the grill of a truck. Like literally splattered across the grill of a F-150. From all the stories floating around out there about it, there wasn't even enough of the thing left to taxidermy back together.

Yes, before you ask, the answer is a sad, emphatic yes. Yes, there were people in town that had wanted to stuff the killer wolf and mount it in the town square like a freaking trophy. Was it any wonder why I started running as soon as I was legal (enough) and hadn't stopped until I'd reached the opposite coast?

Anyway, one would have thought that the removal of that creature would have settled things down. But now apparently Michael Braxton was missing. Had been missing, in fact, for so long that people were starting to worry again. Michael was known for getting drunk of his ass and disappearing for days at a time. But this? Four days was a long while. Too long a while for most.

And now it looked like the "most" wanted to remind me of that fact.

Tommy Braxton, Michael's older brother, glared hatred at me when I stepped through those double doors. "Witch," He spat, not bothering to hide the word.

I glanced at him and the three guys in his booth, all wearing flannel jackets (any wonder why I called them the Flannel Clan?) and hunting boots, and gave them my most dazzling smile. And just because I could, I fished out the pentagram necklace from under my shirt and kissed it. Eyes locked on Tommy's as I ran my tongue over the edge of it.

"Tasty curses," I purred, and then immediately blew him a kiss.

Not the smartest thing I could have done, but it made me feel better.

Tommy literally tried to dodge my kiss, tried to lunge to his feet at the same time. Tried being the operative word. There was too much table between him and the seat, so all he managed to do was tilt the table and spill everyone's drink all over themselves. Which, of course, he instantly blamed on me. Because the laws of physics were obviously my fault. I didn't bother to hide my laugh, either, as I took a seat in a corner both. Let them think I just "magic'ed" the table, the superstitious idiots. It wasn't like my reputation could get any worse here.

The waitress on duty—Dani, or so her nametag read—gave me a delightful smile. "Whatever you want, doll, it's on me tonight."

I flicked a furtive glance at the still-cussing Tommy. "I take it they haven't been the best customers today?"

"You mean they haven't been the best customers ever. They never tip, and I'm a little tired of trying to keep Tommy's hand of my ass each time I pass by."

"What a creep," I shook my head. Honestly, Dani couldn't have been older than sixteen and Tommy was well into his late forties! "I'm sorry you have to deal with that."

"I've had worse," she smiled. "If you keep 'hexing' the table, maybe they'll leave for good."

I couldn't help but lift an eyebrow. "You really believe I'm a witch."

"No," she said honestly. "I think you're just a person like me. But you are something of a local legend."

Oh, this had to be good. "Pray tell?"

She glanced over her shoulder to make certain we were relatively alone, and then leaned in. "Some people think that the wolf attacks were your fault. Other people think that the wolf was killed because you showed up, that the only way it could have… disintegrated like that when the truck hit it was magic," she lowered her voice to a whisper. "They call you the White Witch of Stonehaven. There's even a comic book about you in Avery's bookstore."

Both of my eyebrows tried to merge into my hairline. The White Witch of… oh bloody hell. "A… what?"

"You heard me," she grinned, and fished into the deep pocket of her apron, bringing out the alleged animated story of my adventures. "This is the latest one. I'll let you read it if you promise to autograph it for me."

I didn't think anything on this planet could have stopped me from reaching for it. I stared at the cover in a sort of morbid curiosity. A woman with long black hair and a flowing white dress stood framed by the iconic Stonehaven front gates, flashes of light like tiny lightning storms in her dark eyes. And around her neck was a pentagram similar to the one I wore. So similar in fact, that it couldn't have been a coincidence.

"Dani, when was the first issue publish…"

My sentence trailed off as I realized Dani had moved on to the next table, doing her job with professional courtesy. Terrific. Just what I needed. A legion of tween fans that thought I had something to do with Stonehaven and rabid, somehow exploding, dead wolves. My eyes returned to the trainwreck in front of me and I sighed again, fishing in my pocket for a pen. Stars above, with this kind of thing floating around, was it any wonder my reputation was still mud in this town?

A silver pen flashed in the corner of my vision. "Use mine."

That had my eyes traveling up… and up… and up. And looking into the adorable baby blues of one Nicholas Sorrentino.

I felt my heart skip a beat, taking in that black hair, those stunning eyes, and that smile that could work the panties off a nun if he wanted. Nick garnered that reaction from just about every woman on the planet, and had since he'd reached the age of thirteen and decided there were better uses for girls than throwing rocks at them. I wasn't anything special in that regard, nor was my reaction to him.

Still, it was a point of pride that I didn't smile automatically in response, and that my hand didn't shake slightly when I took the offered pen.

"Thanks."

"You going to invite me to sit?"

"Nope," I replied, squiggling my doctor's scrawl on the top right corner of the comic.

That smile lost a couple of watts of brilliance. "Why?"

"Because you're going to hit on me, that's why."

The smile amped up, nearly lighting up his whole face. "If I promise to keep my hands to myself, will you reconsider?"

I sent him a level look. "It's not your hands that I'm worried about, Nicky. I seem to recall you making the same promise to Laura Monroe when she worked in Miss Cookie's Bakery."

"What can I say? She had tasty cookies."

Tasty cookies. That was a hell of a way to referring to losing one's virginity. And if I recalled correctly, his hands hadn't touched her once. She'd done all the work while he'd been 'helplessly seduced' by her. Yeah, it wasn't Nicky's hands that made him dangerous. He slid into the booth with me anyway, sliding over until his hip was pressed against mine before I had the chance to put distance between us. His arm slipped over my shoulders, all companionable.

"What can you say?" I echoed, trying and failing to put distance between us. "Here, I got an idea. How about you tell me why you're in my space?"

"I wasn't aware you owned the booth."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "You know what I mean."

His smile shifted, becoming less seductive and more boy-next-door. "Clay mentioned he'd run into you here. When I came in for a bite, I had to stop and say hello."

Okay, maybe that was true. Maybe this was all a coincidence. Maybe he was innocent. And that was a very large maybe.

"Well, you've said hello. I've said hello. How about another word game? In this one you say goodbye and get up, so that I can do the same. It's a variation on Simon-Says. I'll go first. Simon-Says 'I smell bullshit and would like you to leave now.' Ready, set, go!"

He responded by picking up the water Dani set on the table not a second ago and downing half of it in two long swallows. Stars, but he had a lovely profile while he did it. Not as lovely as Jeremy's but still—

Good lord, where had _that_ thought come from?

I was saved from any other idiotic observations of my own by my phone going off. The Hall of the Mountain King ringtone was reserved for only one person in my life, and I almost copied Tommy's tipping of the table in my exuberance to answer it. The flat of Nick's hand rapidly slapping the top of it kept that from happening.

"Tell me you aren't chief resident," I all but accused.

"I wish," Christina Yang replied. "Trust me, if that was what this call was about, I'd have video-taped my victory dance and sent it to you well before the call. So you could appreciate my awesomeness from a distance before I accepted your groveling petitions for more surgeries."

"Bitch," I hissed with a wide grin.

"Now that sounds like an interesting call," Nick put in, finishing off my water.

He wasn't going to let me out of the booth for whatever reason. Knowing Nick, he was just exercising that predatory-playfulness he'd shown as a kid. Some boys never really grew up, especially if their daddy's rocked a fortune the size of Antonio Sorrentino's. One glance into those eyes let me know he had no intention of ever leaving Neverland so long as he didn't have to.

I slid under the table, much to his shock, and popped out on the other side. "I've got to take this," I said as I put my hand over the speaker. "Order for me, will you?"

He picked up a menu, paging through it quickly without really reading it. "You do realize the last time we shared food, we were eating fish sticks and mac-in-cheese off the kid's menu. Because we were all of, what, nine at the time?"

I rolled my eyes again. "Get me a salad."

"Right. You want the turkey dinner special."

"Nick—"

He glanced up at me, and the grin on his lips this time was definitely in the realm of older brother. Sort of like Clay's had been two nights ago. "Lotte, I date women that say that every time. 'Get me a salad' while they practically drool over my steak and potatoes. We're friends, not lovers. Eat something real so I don't have to pretend you're not oogling my meat."

Oh, that one sentence had so many implications. And the way his eyes glittered, I knew he'd done it on purpose.

"You're such a tease, Nicky."

"I never tease. Not about that."

I made a show of looking irritated, but we both knew I grinned as widely as he did when my back was turned.

* * *

"Honestly, why did you even go?"

I held the phone away from my ear, as if I could somehow stare through the static of cellular signal and glare right into Christina's face. "Seriously, you just asked that? It's my twin sister's wedding."

"Uh, yeah, it's her wedding. Not your mothers. And family or not, I would never let anyone treat me the way that they treat you. Besides, it wasn't just me that asked," she replied, all defensive. "Mer and is asking the same thing. So's Karev."

To illustrate the point, I heard babbling in the background. Meredith Grey's not so polite request to be uninvited to the conversation and George O'Malley's slightly annoyed mutter about never being invited to anything with us in the first place. The sound of clothing being tossed about wildly let me know that my friends were just now hitting the locker room, changing from scrubs into street clothes for a well-deserved twenty-four hours off shift.

My fingertips tingled, and this time not in response to an impending vision. I could almost feel the latex on my skin, and the firm, unyielding weight of a scalpel in my palm. It had only been four days since last I cut, and now I felt like a crack addict going through withdraw. I wanted to be in that smelly, tiny locker room. I wanted to be cracking jokes with Christina and slapping hands with Alex Karev, trying to one up each other over who handled the most complex surgery like a rock star.

Hell, at this point I would even take George's whining and Izzie's super-annoying constant happiness.

"No wedding is worth missing surgeries," Karev hollered, as if reading my mind. "I don't care if it was the President of the United freaking States marrying the Queen of England. You couldn't drag my ass out of the O.R."

The chorus of murmured agreements made my need for surgery skyrocket to new heights.

"Tell Karev that I'll be home in about four more days," I said, my voice sweet enough dust his hair with sugar from here. "Then he'll have to go back to being the second best surgeon on the floor. I'll take back all my surgeries and he'll be left with scut work."

"What do you mean 'second best'?" Christina demanded. "The title of Best Surgical Resident rests right in these beautiful masterworks I call my lovely little hands."

The chorus changed its tune, spouting off lyrics ranging from 'in your dreams' to 'piss off Yang,' and I found myself smiling again. The 'piss off' part must have come from Alex. My palms ached anew, this time for the feeling of his slapped against it. The man was sarcastic, caustic, and downright unpleasant on the best of days. It was no wonder that he was nearly my best friend.

I wondered idly what he would have said to Tammi Edison if he'd been in that living room with me yesterday. Probably nothing pleasant. No, scratch that. He'd have said nothing at all. Instead he would have poured generous amounts of rum into our punch, and then salted her front yard in the middle of the night. Good luck growing award-winning pansies for the State Farm this year.

I snickered. I couldn't help it. It was just the sort of 'screw you' that ruined a life without actually taking it.

The fuzzy, static-like sound of a phone being tossed about let me know someone else had taken up the call.

"Listen," Meredith's voice spoke. "We all know that your talented, but as to the best? The best at what? Christina is headed for Cardio. I'm thinking Neuro. Alex wants Plastics so bad he can taste it. Where does that leave the third best resident in this program?"

"Actually, I was thinking Ortho," George piped.

"No one was talking to you, O'Malley," Alex snapped. "She meant Morgan as the third best. And wasn't she thinking General, anyway?"

"Why is Morgan the third best?" George sighed/whined. "Why are you all always competing, anyway?"

Dead silence followed in the wake of that question. Even from my end of the phone. Why were we always… was he for real? Did he not realize only the best of the best caught the most fantastic cases? That the person that knew the most about the case got to do the cutting? That… well… surgery was like the pro-football circuit of sports? Only the quarterbacks got to cut, and got the salaries and fame that went with it.

That alone was worth competing for.

"Did… did you really just say that?" This from Christina.

"I… I think he did," Izzie replied, voice just as stunned.

"What?" George asked. "Seriously, we all have a place in the program. The competition can stop now."

"Someone smack O'Malley for me," I groaned, rubbing at my temple with my free hand.

"Hey," Meredith relayed. "Someone sma—oh, nevermind. Alex is on it."

"Way to go, Alex," Christina laughed. "It's nice to have a fallback career as a boxer when I kick your butt all over this program."

Another "Piss off Yang" was tossed about.

"I've got to go," Meredith said, swallowing a chuckle of her own. "Get back here as soon as you can. The new interns are going to arrive in a week and you don't want to fall behind. You don't want to miss out on your first speech as someone that has the actual authority to have an opinion."

Alex yanked the phone from her hands. "Morgan," He barked at me. "You. Home. Now. You can't leave me here with these sissies all the damn time."

The connection dropped, but not my grin. It was so good to hear from people that actually understood me. Vicious, backstabbing sharks with teeth made of scalpels pretending to be people, true. But they understood, and that was more than I could say about my family here.

About anyone here, anyway.

That point was so lovingly made clear to me when the hand closed over mine and ripped the phone from my fingers. A had a whiff of bad whiskey and stale tobacco to let me know who had come searching for me. It wasn't Nicky Sorrentino.

Tommy Braxton whipped me around, slamming my back hard into the brick wall of the diner. My vision swam, the breath knocked from my lungs. "Witch," he spat—as in spittle flying into my face, as he threw my phone to the ground and crushed it beneath his boot. "You aren't wanted here."

One of these days, I was going to learn it didn't pay to have a snappy comeback for everything. I opened my mouth to say something like 'get a writer' or 'really, that's the best you can come up with' and ended up tasting blood. My blood. From where his fist hit me square in the mouth. I saw stars a second time as the back of my head hit the bricks. The world up and swirled around me and this time it had everything to do with visions.

Visions of looking down at my twin sister, watching her stare up at me in horror. And my fist drove down into her face, connecting solidly with her eye. Only it wasn't my fist.

"You shit-bag," I gasped, pushing up to hands and knees. "You hit the wrong girl all those years ago. You hit my twin instead of me."

"Yeah, I did," Tommy growled. "A mistake I didn't make this time. Char's a damn fine girl. I feel bad about what I did to her. You… I won't feel bad about at all."

His thick fingers slid beneath the collar of my shirt and latched onto the chain of my pentagram. He yanked upward, nearly choking me as he pulled me to my knees. Other hands grabbed my shoulders, drew my arms behind my back. And he yanked the necklace free.

"You want to be a witch, fine," he said, flicking out his zippo and holding the pentagram over the flame. "I'll make sure the world knows you're a witch."

And it dawned on me, cut through double images I was seeing, as to what he meant. I opened my mouth to scream, and found a wad of cloth shoved between my teeth for my troubles. God, oh god, they were going to brand me. WITH MY OWN NECKLACE!

I struggled. I tried. I kicked and did my best to spit the cloth from my mouth. It didn't work. That hot, slightly glowing metal started to head towards my face. Towards my forehead—

—until it suddenly wasn't. Because it was falling from limp fingers. Because Nick had literally body-checked the man into the nearest truck, leaving a dent in it much larger than he should have. Tommy fell like so much dead weight to the ground, and Nick spun around, catching one of the other Braxton boys before he could run away.

That was my cue. My head slammed backward, catching Braxton No. 3 right in the balls. He screamed, and I realized my mistake too late. He pitched me forward, trying to get me away from him, and I fell right onto that hot pentagram. My only saving grace being that it hit me in my left front shoulder, searing just below my collar bone.

"Lotte!" Nick called, switching attention towards me. It wasn't like there were any standing Braxton's now to occupy his attention. "Lotte, talk to me."

Gentle hands gripped my shoulders, helped me roll off the burning metal. Helped me pull the dirty cloth from my mouth. The world spun horribly, far too much for my own good. So my brain did what any self-respecting brain would have done—it checked out for the night. Taking with it my consciousness.


	6. The Hits Just Keep Coming and Coming

A/N: Just wanted to say "THANK YOU" to everyone that has read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story. :)

* * *

The chairs at the sheriff's office hadn't changed. They were still the most uncomfortable things I had ever planted my ass in, and that included the concrete floor of the hospital basement back home in Seattle. During my internship, I'd learned to sleep in the most uncomfortable of positions in the most unorthodox of places for the strangest amounts of time. Alex, my partner in crime, had mastered the art of the five minute power nap while standing upright. He'd ridden one of the elevators up and down the hospital, propped up in the corner with his eyes glazed over, catching a REM cycle for a few minutes before hopping back into work mode.

What can I say? We did anything in our power to be ready for any surgery that may drop into our laps.

The best sleeping skill I'd managed was the ability to wedge myself underneath a rolling medicine cabinet. It didn't work out so well for me when I woke up in the pediatric unit four floors above where I'd last opened my eyes. It worked out even less for the poor parents that I nearly scared the life out of when I'd crawled out from beneath it. Still, it had been the best three hour nap of my life.

Unlike the no-sleep I'd gotten in the past eight hours. I'd been rushed to the ER, poked and prodded to make sure I didn't lose any brain cells when my head hit that wall. When the Powers that Be determined that I wasn't going to die, I was hauled back to the Sheriff Station to give statements, counter-accusations, and await the arrival of my lawyer. My ten minute state of unconsciousness from the mild concussion courtesy of Tommy's fists didn't count as sleep.

I shifted again in the rickety wooden seat, pressing my sunglasses to my eyes as if it could somehow absorb through my skull and kill the migraine battering at my already battered head. It didn't work, and neither was it helped by the quiet yelling of my twin.

"My client isn't at fault," she hissed. Only a lawyer—and a damn good one at that—could manage to yell quietly. "My client is the victim."

"Your sister," replied the Braxton lawyer. "Provoked my client. He merely went outside to ask her not to perform obscene gestures in public, especially in the presence of children. She and Mr. Sorrentino attacked him without provocation."

Obscene gestures… oh, right. I licked my necklace. How dirty-minded of me.

Char scoffed. Openly scoffed. "Of course they did," she deadpanned. "That's why Mr. Sorrentino has no visible injuries at present and my sister has many. Which include bruises on her shoulders and wrists that match the size and shape of Tommy and Edward Braxton's hands, not to mention the fingerprints the forensic team managed to pull off her skin and clothing. Bruises which are consistent with being forced to her knees and her hands forcibly pulled behind her back. You know, I hear that a person can be utterly deadly when held prone and helpless like that."

Idiot didn't appreciate Char's dry humor. "Then explain why Mr. Edward Braxton is suffering from a scrotum impact."

I openly gaped at him. Seriously, did he just call that a 'scrotum impact?' That wasn't even a medical term. Where did he get his law degree, a cracker-jack box?

"The term you are looking for is 'groin attack,'" I said, wincing as I shifted the ice pack on the back of my head. "And he's suffering from 'testicular trauma.'"

Cracker-Jack (he hadn't told me his name. I had to call him something.) actually rounded on me like I had just given him the keys to my conviction. "So you admit it."

"Y—"

"Yes," Char jumped in, tossing me a withering glare to shut me up. "Yes, we admit to an act of self-defense. Mr. Edward Braxton is lucky he is only suffering a bruise to his ego and his… groin. The evidence clearly points to self-defense."

"Then I don't think we can come to an agreement outside of court."

"So you intend to press charges?"

"Absolutely," Cracker-Jack fished into his briefcase and came out with a folded piece of blue paper. "Here's my motion to have this case removed from Sheriff Karen Morgan's hands in light of her familial connection to the Defendant."

Char took the paper, opening it and scanning its contents briefly. Her smile only widened as she read. I swear, if sharks could smile, they would have looked like my twin in that instant. "Good luck finding someone not related to any of us in Bear Valley," she said, putting the paper in her own briefcase. "Any motion you file to move the venue of this case from this area will be likewise squashed. The neighboring cities of Carroll and Wirt aren't likely to be receptive of a he-said-she-said case, and you know it. They're a little tired of dealing with our small-town 'family feuds.'"

Cracker-Jack didn't have as good a poker face as my sister. I saw a bit of a sour expression cross his features before he could hide it. "We'll see, Counselor. Now if you will excuse me, I have another lawyer to meet with today."

He closed his briefcase and strutted like a damn pigeon towards the only other room inside the building that wasn't a jail cell. Aunt Karen had been kind enough to let Char use her office for the interview with Cracker-Jack. The other lawyer he was waiting on belonged to Nick Sorrentino, or more to the point, belonged to Antonio Sorrentino. By belonged, I meant paid well enough to wear Gucci tailored suits and carry a Louis Vuitton briefcase. And by lawyer, I meant many.

As in three expensive men sat in the interrogation room, calmly waiting their turn at bat. Nick sat in a rickety chair in the center of their pyramid of legal prominence, tipping the thing back on two legs and laughing at something one of the lawyers said. Looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. If I had his father's kind of money, I wouldn't have cared about this either.

"Idiot," Char hissed, actually taking the time to read the motion now. "He's probably the best that Braxton could afford, though."

"I take it the factories are falling on hard times again?"

"In this day and age of recycled goods? Yes," she leaned against the desk, reading the motion for the second time and frowning slightly.

"What?" I asked.

"You aren't going to like this, Lotte, but you may have to extend your stay."

I cursed silently. "Let me guess, they aren't going to let me leave the area until a trial date is set?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"And how long can that take?"

"That depends on how much they want to press you into a settlement," she tossed the motion back into her briefcase. "They know you are a doctor now, a surgeon with a hefty mal-practice insurance payment."

"Uh, in case you missed the memo, they were the ones that were trying to perform a lobotomy on me, not the other way around. My insurance won't even begin to touch this."

"No," she agreed. "But to small-minded people like them, you are now as rich as the Danvers and Sorrentinos. The Braxton's—all of them—make their livings off of that factory. Given the layoffs and pay-cuts of late, they can barely make their mortgage payments."

Which meant they saw me as an easy mark to cover their financial woes. I sighed.

"Maybe if they stopped spending all their money on beer and guns, they'd be in a better position."

"No doubt," she smiled slightly. "But why do that when they can sucker a rich doctor into a million-dollar settlement?"

I groaned, rubbing my forehead. "Char, they weren't trying to entrap me. They were trying to hurt me. I've got the brand to prove it."

She stopped me before I opened my collar to show that perfectly imprinted pentagram stained into my flesh. "I know. Trust me, I know. And as soon as the lawyers release Nicky from custody, I'm going to kiss him right on the mouth for saving you. We've got them dead to rights here, Lotte. We've got the evidence, and a witness that proves they started this whole thing."

"Dani?" I asked, surprised, thinking back to the only other friendly face in town. "The waitress from the diner?"

"She's the one that called the cops. She's the reason that Tommy, Edward, and Michael, Jr., are being held without bail."

"She's willing to testify against them?"

"So far," Char nodded, and then straitened up into a posture I knew far too well. With that motion, she was no longer my sister. She was in kick-ass-take-names lawyer mode. "So from here on out, here's what you'll do. You will have no contact with any Braxton. You will not talk about this case with anyone. And for the love of all that is holy, keep your head down and your attitude in neutral, okay?"

I nodded. It was all I could really hope for. "I'll have to call the hospital and explain why I need more time."

"Let me handle that."

Something in her tone had me glancing back up at her, something soft and slightly pensive. "What?"

I followed the line of her gaze, watching as one of the Sorrentino legal team peeled off from the rest and headed our way, another lovely blue life-wrecking piece of paper in his hands. "Good afternoon, Ms. Morgan," he tossed her a professional smile. "I'm Maximilian Grant, lead counsel for Nicholas Sorrentino in this matter. Please find my motion to sever the trails. My client wishes not to involve Ms. Charlotte Morgan any further in his legal proceedings."

My mouth fell open. Closed. Opened again. And closed with an audible click of teeth. "Why?"

He sent me a slight smile from a generous mouth, but that was all he would give me in answer. Instead, his green eyes settled on Char's face. "We look forward to hearing from your office, Ms. Morgan. Good day."

* * *

Aunt Karen showed up at mom's place to deliver her last action as sheriff in this matter. That being the directive to stay in town until a trial date could be set. This wasn't good news for anyone, and mother broke into her usual hysterical sobs the moment Aunt Karen left. This was all my fault, she'd said. I was ruining everything on purpose and causing my 'usual scandals' just to steal the spotlight from my twin. Char's wedding was only three days away, mom had said. She should be spending it in a state of utter elation, not working her ass off to defend her sister in an assault trial.

The worst part of this? I actually agreed with mom in some small way.

Char _should_ be enjoying her time before her wedding. She should be frantic with finishing all the little details, stressed out beyond words and half-drunk the entire time to keep her nerves under control. It was going to be a huge wedding, after all. Half the town was invited, and the other half was going to show up to the reception later anyway.

No matter how much Char protested that she could actually use this distraction of work, I still felt bad. Mark this date on the wall, ladies and gentlemen. For the first time since I was nine, my mother and I actually agreed on something.

I fought not to call the local preacher and ask how the snowball fights were going in Hell at the moment.

It was no surprise when mom, after finishing her hysterics, declared that I wasn't welcome in the house anymore. I'd brought enough scandal on Char's big day without being a walking reminder of how she'd never enjoy her wedding. Char's protests fell on deaf ears, even when she explained that my own mother kicking me from my childhood home over this would be used against me in court. Dad couldn't change her mind, either.

That was my mother. So concerned about what everyone else thought. Oh, the scandal of having me in house! What would the neighbors think?!

I packed up while everyone was still arguing and threw what little I had in the back of my rental car. I was just about to back out of the drive when the tingling hit like wildfire, spiraling up my arms before I could blink. I slammed the breaks hard enough to bounce me forward against the seatbelt, waiting for whatever vision was going to slap me to come forward and hit me already. Once the tingling started, there was no controlling it. I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Nothing happened.

Well, nothing happened to me, I should say.

For reasons I couldn't quite understand, I put the car back in park and popped out the driver's side, my eyes instantly tracking up the street. Antonio Sorrentino stood in the gathering twilight just up the road, leaning against an expensive-looking SUV. The way he was parked, no one was going to get down the dirt road that lead to the Morgan Property. No one was going to leave it, either. At least, not until he got what he wanted.

I sighed heavily, pushing my sunglasses back in place. Sunset or not, my eyes were bruised from where I'd injured my nose in the fall. It wasn't broken, but you couldn't tell that by looking at me. Nose injuries always climbed up into the eyes.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked over to him. "Well," I said by way of greeting. "Let's get down to it. Mom has already read me the riot act for ruining Char's life. You might as well do the same for involving Nicky in my troubles so I can call it a night."

"You really think that's why I'm here?" He asked softly, squinting at me.

"Look, if it's all the same to you, can we get it over with now? All the yelling in one night means I can spend tomorrow actually healing instead of waiting for it. So make with the words, and I'll make with the feeling really bad's, and we can both go home and drink ourselves stupid."

He stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and gently took the sunglasses from my face. Instinctively I looked away. Calloused hands, proving he earned his money the honest way instead of inheriting it, gripped my chin with equal tenderness, turning my face to his. Upon inspection of my new facial courtesy of Braxton and Braxton, his eyes did that thing that Jeremy's had done the other night. Went feral and… otherworldly… for a moment or two.

And the shadows around him shifted. So much so that I shivered and stepped closer to him. Suddenly afraid. Suddenly cold.

Suddenly feeling his arms around me, holding me in a protective circle. "I'm sorry, Lotte," he said. "We'll see to it that the Braxton's pay for this."

I fought against a rush of tears. Stars, why weren't my parents doing this right now? Why wasn't my father hugging me like this, my mother holding my hand and swearing to run the entire Flannel Clan over with her car for touching her baby girl? No matter how old a person got, they always needed their mom and dad when they were hurting. Always wanted that loving embrace to ensure them that everything was alright.

Even when it wasn't. Most especially when it wasn't.

I swallowed convulsively before forcing myself to step back. He wasn't my father. He was a good man, a kind man. But he wasn't my father, and I had no right to look up at him like that.

"Is that why you severed the trials?" I asked.

He reluctantly allowed me to put space between us, but one hand rested on my arm, as if afraid I would bolt if he didn't keep a hold on me. "No," he replied. "There are other concerns right now, other things outside of you and Bear Valley that need to be considered. Trust me, this is for the best."

"Are you going to settle with that bastard?"

The way his lips pressed to a thin line for a moment was all the answer I needed. He was. He was going to throw money at this until Braxton went away. It would hurt my chances at trial, even though it shouldn't. And it meant that the burden now fell on my shoulders to make certain Braxton got punished for what he'd done to me. Because if I settled now, too, that meant he got away with it. That would send a signal to the entire town that it was okay to beat the hell out of people who were strange and different.

And it would prove mom right, would prove that it was a sin to move against the status quo. It would make Braxton seem like a hero for showing the _witch_ her place. And this entire fucking town could go on living in its own version of the social Dark Ages.

Don't ask me why that felt like a worse betrayal than my own parents' actions tonight. It just did. Stars, I so hated it here.

He must have seen the realization dawn on me, because his hand tightened on my arm. "Lotte—"

"No, it's okay," I sniffed, batting angrily at the one tear that escaped my control. "Seriously, Mr. Sorrentino, it's really okay. Th-thank you for at least having the stones to tell me this in person."

"Lotte, I promise you that this will work itself out. Braxton won't get away with what he's done."

"Yes, he will. He wanted to hurt my reputation. Do you really think that people don't research their surgeons? A trial will show up on any search people make. Once it's in the courtroom, its public domain. It's law. Stars above, it feels like someone was just coming after me the moment I set foot back in this town. The hits just keep coming and coming..."

I was developing a bad habit of letting my thoughts and words trail off, or trying to continue conversations with people that had obviously jumped the mental track and were chugging along different mental routes now. Antonio's hand froze on my arm, his entire body going dangerously still.

"What… did you just say?"

"I said that this feels like a personal attack," I repeated, eyeing him carefully. "Ever since I stepped foot back in Bear Valley, it's been problem after problem for me. The only people outside of Aunt Karen and Char that have even bothered to listen to me have been Clay and Nicky and—"

He turned swiftly, somehow managing to do that with one hand still on my arm. He opened the passenger side door of the SUV. "Get in."

He said it with so much authority, so much natural command in his tone, that I was halfway into the car before I realized I was moving. "Wait. Why?"

"You need a place to stay, don't you?"

"Mr. Sorren—"

"Antonio."

"Whatever," I said, not willing to get into an argument about politeness and respect at that moment. "I can take care of myself. There's this hotel…"

Again I made with the sentence-trailing-off thing as he lifted an eyebrow at me. Insinuating that if I really could handle myself, Nicky wouldn't have had to save my butt. "You got a better idea than a hotel?"

"I own a small house not far from here. It's within the city limits and it's safe. You'll stay there."

I didn't like the finality of that last statement. "Why?"

"You've been a good friend to my son—"

"Thank you for making me feel like you think I'm an idiot, Antonio," I took another step away from him. "It's much appreciated. Nicky and I haven't been friends since we were kids. Meeting up again after a decade or two apart doesn't qualify me for family status, nor merit the use of your home. So here's the way this is going to go. You tell me what the hell is going on, or I'm getting into my car and driving to a hotel. Your choice."

He gave me that fatherly look, the one that said that if I was his child, I'd be in for a world of punishment for sassing off like that. All fathers seemed to have that look. Especially when they thought someone was being particularly dense on purpose. Or about to get in way over their head.

"I think someone is targeting you," he said at length, staring hard into my eyes. "And yes, it has something to do with your friendships with Nick and Clay. That's all I can tell you. That's all you need to know. Let me repay you for all this by putting you somewhere safe until this problem is handled. Now, get your things and get in the car."

Contrary to popular belief, I wasn't an idiot. This wasn't some dramatic movie. And I definitely wasn't the damsel in distress that would moronically challenge him for my right to defend myself. Call me a coward all you want, but when someone as powerful as Antonio Sorrentino—someone that shows up with three lawyers that could eat half of New York for breakfast just to get his son out of an assault charge—tells you that bad things are happening because you happened to share a childhood memory with said son, you don't take it lightly.

You do what he says, or you can expect a toe tag and a body bag as your next gifts from anyone.

I got my stuff and pulled my rental up behind the SUV. It was quickly attached to the hitch, and I was spirited away to parts unknown.


	7. I Need You To Return That Trust

I should have known better.

When Antonio had said that he owned a "small" house on the outskirts of the city, I had logically assumed something in the range of two bedrooms and a single bath, maybe a thousand square feet total. I didn't count on the need to translate measurements from Sorrentino into English. Gaping as we passed the wrought iron gates pretty much did that for me. Because what most normal people considered small wasn't in the realm of "Sorrentino small." It wasn't even close.

The house had five bedrooms—five! That didn't count the formal sitting room, the living room, the den, the game room, the dining room, the formal dining room, the home theatre room, or the little one bedroom pool house out behind a pool the size of a small lake. It had four and a half bathrooms, and could probably sleep three families of four in comfort at the same time.

Don't even get me started on the fixtures, the Italian marble flooring, the… well, you get the picture.

All this was situated about an acre or two back from the main road. Looking at the barely visible dirt path (I wouldn't even call that a road), you never would have guessed that Tom Cruise spent his off time here. Okay, okay, Tom didn't spend his time here. But he could have. The six foot iron gate that encapsulated the main house and surrounding gardens looked right up his privacy-needing alley.

It made me wonder all over again just what type of business the Sorrentino family was really into. If he so much as hinted at garbage or olive oil, I was out. No further explanation needed. No further words. Screaming as I ran blindly towards the road didn't count as words.

"You call this small?" I questioned, staring around the open floor plan of the first level. "Seriously, Antonio, you need to buy a dictionary. I think you're mixing up the meaning of the words 'small' and 'good freaking lord.'"

He chuckled. "Would you like to see your room?"

"That depends, do TV shows start an hour later there than in the living room?"

The chuckle became full on laughter. "Come with me."

He started to head deeper into the house while I immediately headed towards the pool, or more to the point, the little house behind it. We stopped at about the same time, turning to stare at one another quizzically.

"I thought you were going to show me to my room?" I asked, a little dumbfounded.

"I am. Why are you heading outside?"

"Uh, not to sound impolite, but this is your house. Your space. I assumed you were putting me up the guest house out back. I'll be fine there. I don't want to trouble you further."

That smile returned, and I saw shades of Nick in it. A slightly wild, boyish charm that looked as good on the father as it did on the son. "Lotte, this is the guest house."

He extended his arms, taking in the expanse of the mansion pretending to be a little house with the gesture. While I tried very hard to pick my jaw up off the floor. This was his little guest house? What did that make the pool house into, an outside closet? Seriously, this entire family was nuts. There wasn't a documented case in any medical journal where money was the cause of insanity, but I was willing to open a case study on the Sorrentinos.

We went up the tasteful corner staircase, and I was silently proud that it wasn't one of those overblown spiral deals. Like the rest of the décor, it was modern without being edgy and classic without being boring. It was, in a word, him. It was one of his homes, if not his main residence. And it was built to reflect that.

I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding when we stopped short of the double doors leading to the master bedroom. In awe of him or not, I wasn't going to sleep in his bed. Maybe that was an old hang-up from my mother's teachings when I was a child, but I just wasn't going to sleep there when I was a guest. He opened a door to the immediate left of it, and we walked into a sea of soft cream and gold. The bed was larger than my livingroom back home, but thankfully without the canopy. A gorgeous headboard of dark wood inlaid with elegant gold accents matched the rest of the furniture.

Masculine without being heavy.

Dresser, desk, chair, extra chair… but that wasn't what drew me in. It was the far wall of the room, or more to the point, the fact that it was entirely made of glass. I had a stunning view of the pool and garden area, silhouetted by a clear Bear Valley night and lit up by powerful yet unobtrusive lights.

"What do you think?" He asked, stepping up beside me.

"That I'm going to develop rug burn on my chin from the way it keeps dropping around here."

He laughed again, hands on his hips as he shook his head. "I'll take that as a complement."

"It is," I said, meaning it. "Why?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why are you doing this? Why are you letting me stay here? Why… and please don't take offense to this, but why do you care?"

He sat down in the heavy cream-and-gold upholstered winged-back chair, and I took that as invitation to do the same. Only I sat on the edge of the bed.

"It isn't my intention to insult your intelligence, Lotte. So I will be as direct and open as I can. There are individuals that want to hurt my family. They'll go to any lengths to do so, including harming those that my family calls friends."

I shook my head before I realized I was doing it. "Antonio, this is sweet and all, but honestly I can't be a friend of the Sorrentino family. Nick said it himself the other night. The last time he and I shared anything close to a meal, it was fish sticks and mac-n-cheese. And that was only because you and Jeremy happened to be at the diner at the same time as my family, and it would have been rude not to share a table."

That boyish grin almost tipped his lips again. "I remember that night. You and Nicky decided it would be more fun to quietly smash your mac-n-cheese into each other's kneecaps than eat it."

"In our defense, we were making mac-cheese-power-armor," Despite the years that had passed since then, I still squirmed a bit at the reference. "Mom never did get the cheese out of those jeans. Nor did she forgive me in participating in Clay's fish-stick sword fights."

"Nicky and Clay didn't escape the night without their fair share of lectures and punishment. Though, if we are making defense claims, Jeremy and I had a very hard time keeping the smiles from our faces while administering the lectures," his smile took on a strange, bittersweet tint. "It was a good night. One that Jeremy and I remember fondly from time to time. Children acting as if they were just children."

Children acting as if… I had no idea what he meant by _that_, and the sadness that starting to take the sweet and leave more bitter behind kept me from asking. Let me know that whatever had happened to Clay as a child, whatever had put those shadows of horror in a little boy's eyes and forced him to hide under bleachers, had nothing to do with Antonio. Or Jeremy. Don't ask me why, but that little bit of knowledge took a layer of stress off my shoulders.

Whatever the Sorrentinos and Danvers were in to, whatever share Antonio and Jeremy had in that business, they were good men. They were good fathers to their sons. And that let me feel a tad safer in their care.

Though the fact that I needed to be in their care in the first place added new stress to my already aching shoulders.

"That was well over ten years ago," I said, drawing us both back to the present. "I've done enough since then to merit my own particular brand of enemies. The Braxtons went after me, not Nick. You've had to have heard the rumors about me in this town. Nothing stays secret in Bear Valley for long."

"Some things do," he murmured, almost too quietly for me to hear. "I've heard the rumors, and I really don't care for them. What I can tell you is that the Braxtons have their own particular reason for coming after my family. Yes, it's independent of your own reasons at its root. But Nicky's involvement the other night wove their different strands of ignorant hatred into one knot."

"With Nicky, Clay, and me at the center."

He nodded. "Nicky and Clay are safe in Stonehaven. You are now safe here in Ravenswood. They Braxtons are foolish, yes, but they won't come at you or Nicky directly when you are behind stone walls."

"What about Clay? Why are they after him? And don't tell me that they aren't, because I was there when Edward Braxton took a swing at his back in that diner."

His mouth compressed into a thin line. "You have heard that Michael Braxton is missing?"

"Yes, of course I have. It was all Char could talk about when we got home because of the case against me…" And it dawned on me what he was saying. "They think Clay did something to him?"

Antonio shrugged fractionally. "Michael and his family trespassed on Stonehaven and made a threatening gesture towards Jeremy. Clay struck him."

I sighed heavily, rubbing my eyes. "And let me guess, that was the last time anyone saw Michael Braxton."

"It was. Aside from his brother, Tommy, who claimed that Michael was headed to Stonehaven to 'settle' with Clay the night he vanished."

Oh, for the love of all that was holy… that's what Clay had meant that morning in the diner. And now Nick, someone who was practically Clay's brother, was in an altercation with another Braxton.

"That's why you're settling with Tommy Braxton," I said, glancing back up at him. "Not because you want to make this go away and avoid a million dollar lawsuit, but because you don't want to shine any further suspicion on Clay. Like my mother kicking me out of the house, an open lawsuit with Tommy Braxton will severely damage Clay's reputation. Especially if something really did happen to Michael Braxton."

Again, he nodded. "So you understand why it's in everyone's best interest if you stay here and out of trouble."

I puffed out a breath, staring at the gorgeous thick carpet. "Char isn't going to think so. She's going to have a field day with this and with you."

"I'll let Max deal with that," he said, rising to his feet. "It's late and you are tired. Marie is the caretaker of this house. She'll see to it that the pantry is stocked. In fact, I believe she has left you something in the refrigerator for dinner."

That had me looking up at him again, rising to my feet as he did. "You don't have to do that. I'm capable of buying my own groceri—"

His hands, soft but firm on my shoulders, silenced my protests. "I need you to stay here, Lotte. Don't leave for any reason without contacting me first. If you can't reach me, then call Nicky. But you must understand, you shouldn't leave—period."

I saw that scary, shadowy, wolf-like thing in his eyes again. And the room felt like it had suddenly plummeted ten degrees.

"Antonio, please tell me what is going on."

"I've said all that I can. More than I should have, to be honest. I trust you, as Jeremy and Clay have trusted you all these years. Please, do what I say, and I promise I'll tell you more when all this is over."

I didn't protest when he leaned in, planting a fatherly-like kiss on my forehead. I needed it. Somehow, he had known that I needed that bit of human contact. I sat back down on the bed, arms wrapped around myself as he walked out of the room. The tears didn't start falling until I heard him heading down the stairs, speaking into his cell phone.

"Jeremy, it's Antonio. It's done. Yes, Lotte's safe at Ravenswood. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He didn't say goodbye, and the soft boom of the heavy oak front door closing behind him sounded suspiciously like the sealing of a tomb.

* * *

It didn't dawn on me to warn Antonio about the vision I'd had. As much as it pains me to admit it, I was still in a form of shock, wrapped up in my own personal turmoil to think of anyone else in that moment. There were too many unanswered questions floating in the soup of my consciousness, too many loose ends that skittered away like leaves in some twisted wind. The closer I got to catching one, the faster two others would slap me in the face and spin me about.

It was well after midnight before I even thought of Antonio, at least just solely about him. Hell, it was around that time that I realized I'd spent four hours sitting there on the edge of that bed, staring down at the carpet. I'd lost track of how many bouts of silent tears I'd let fall, too. Some things just didn't need counting.

Especially when you were too scared to remember what numbers even were.

But remember him I did, about the time my tummy rumbled and I headed down into the kitchen. Motion lights, again soft like the ones outside, sprang to life as I moved down the hallway, showing me the way in unfamiliar territory. The kitchen was clean enough to operate in, and true to his word, there was a large container of what looked like chicken cacciatore with my name on it. Literally.

I pulled out the plastic, glancing at the neat little letters. And that's when my eyes landed on the bottle of wine. Or should I say, the open bottle of wine. The expensive, open bottle without so much as a swig missing from its burgundy depths. Beneath it on the counter was a hastily scrawled note, done in the same handwriting as on the Tupperware.

_"You need it. Please enjoy, and thank you for the pleasant trip down memory lane._

_~A."_

A single glass was set out next to it.

I set down the food, picking up the wine by its slender neck and whistling softly between my teeth. While not super expensive, the bottle of 1996 Talbot easily cost somewhere in the realm of hundred-and-fifty. And that's with a good deal on the price.

"A home cooked meal by your own hand and a pricy bottle of wine," I murmured to no one in particular. "Antonio Sorrentino, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were trying to seduce me. I suppose I now know where Nicky gets it."

After some rummaging, I found a cookie sheet to serve as a tray. The meal and wine and glass went onto it, along with the notepad and pen Antonio had used to leave the note, and I headed out to the pool. Of course the thing was heated, soft steam wafting up into the cool night. Another colossal waste of money if he kept this thing heated all through the winter with no one to enjoy it. If that wasn't the case, it was another mark—for or against, I wasn't certain—that let me know he'd planned well ahead of time to have me put here.

It was a beautiful cage, I had to admit. Filled with everything I needed to keep me happy for days. Weeks even. Everything I could possibly desire… except the need to leave. There was a part of me that was absolutely certain the front gate was locked from the outside. For good or for ill, I was here until he said otherwise. For as long as it took for him to determine that whatever threat against his family was neutralized.

For as long as that took. Now that statement had a very open-ended feel to it that I didn't like.

I tried to relax, rolling up my pants and submerging my legs in the water up to the knee. Dinner was cold, but tasted delightful anyway. As a surgeon, I was used to eating lightly during the day (you never knew when you were going to be in an eight-hour plus surgery, so taking potty breaks was pretty much out of the question when someone's life was literally in your hands) and devouring whatever was in the 'fridge like a ravenous wolf when I got home. If it wasn't life threatening to eat cold, heating was just too much effort.

And with each sip of wine, I made a list of what I knew.

Fact: Someone was threatening the Danvers and Sorrentinos.

Fact: The Danvers and Sorrentinos liked their privacy. Had the money to afford it. And had the temperament of rabid wolves when that was threatened. Civil, law-abiding rabid wolves. But rabid wolves nonetheless.

Fact: Everyone here hated me.

Fact: Okay, okay. Char and Aunt Karen didn't hate me.

Fact: The Braxtons did.

Fact: They hated the S's and D's, too.

Fact: Michael was missing. Last seen arguing with Clay.

Fact: I was last seen (before my attack) in the company of Clay and Elena.

Fact: I was attacked by the Braxtons.

Fact: So was Nick.

I frowned, pen frozen in hand. Something wasn't right here. Something… something…

Fact: Braxtons (all of them) weren't smart enough to go after both the S's and D's. They were stupid enough to think in instant flashes without seeing the ending consequences, true. But what's been happening has been too… coordinated for them.

I felt the blood drain from my face as I wrote the last fact. As the truth swam up to the surface of all my doubts.

Fact: Braxtons are pawns, too, like me. Collateral damage in a private war. Someone else is the source. Someone else is targeting the S's and D's for some unknown reason. Someone who was playing for keeps.

There was no tingling on my fingertips or spine this time. Just one minute I was staring at my own shaky handwriting on paper, and the next I was staring at a dead body. Michael Braxton's unseeing eyes stared into mine, his throat spurting the last of his life across the earth. His last tear, his last silent plea for mercy, nothing but a hoarse whisper to my ears as I floated high above the ground, a ghostly spectator to the end of his existence.

"It's done," said the killer, adjusting his glasses on an unremarkable face.

"Good," said his accomplice, this one attractive in a dark, sort of emo way. "Make sure the corpse is decorating Stonehaven real estate in the morning. I'll drop a little birdie into Michael, Jr.'s ear that it's a great time to settle up accounts with the Danvers then."

Unremarkable wiped his blade on Michael's shirt, cleaning it, before rising to his feet. "You sure you want to go through with this? Seeing Clayton Danvers on trial for murder is one thing. A possible conviction could expose our kind."

Emo shook his head, sucking on a cigar. "It'll never get that far, one way or the other. Either Jeremy will put an end to the trial, or I will. I just need them chasing their tails while I move on what I want."

"The woman?"

"Jeremy can't protect her forever. Especially when the real Alpha takes over the pack. Now let's find Cain. It's time for phase two."

The ghost of me started to sink, falling into the all too familiar blackness that accompanied these visions—

—and I came up sputtering, coughing up pool water. Splashing about as I tried to find my bearings, the notepad floating beside me in the deep end. All my writing, all my musings, was gone, the ink bleeding blue into the warm waters. I had half a mind to grab it, the other half focusing on getting out of the water before I drowned.

And when I had accomplished that, I all but ran to my phone. Freezing as the cold night chilled the water on my body, and with chattering teeth, I dialed Antonio's number.

His sleepy voice picked up after the second ring. "Lotte, what's wrong?"

"Cain," I chattered at him. "Who is Cain?"

All trace of sleepiness vanished at that question. "Lotte, is he there? Did he call you? Nick and I are on our way."

"No, no. He's not here. He didn't call. Look, this is going to sound insane but I need you to return the trust that I gave you. You're in danger. Someone named Cain in involved in something called phase two. They… they said the real alpha is going to take over the pack. I don't know what that means, but it's what they said. And… and there's more. Michael Braxton is dead. Murdered by the same people that mentioned this alpha. They want to pin it on Clay. They—"

"Lotte, listen to me. Listen to me very carefully. I want you to stay inside until I come for you, okay? Stay inside, lock the doors, and don't speak to anyone. Anyone at all. I have something I have to handle in the morning. But for now, I need you to do exactly as I've instructed, am I understood?"

I nodded before I realized he couldn't see it. "Yes, I understand. And Antonio, please be careful. I… someone is going to try and kill you on a road lined with trees. I… I can't tell you how I know this. I just do. Please… wear a Kevlar vest or something. Just stay away from knives and roads lined with trees. Please, promise me that. Promise me!"

I was gripping the phone so hard I heard the plastic start to crack.

"I promise," he said softly and quietly. "We'll talk, Lotte. We'll have a long talk when I get there tomorrow."

He hung up without saying goodbye, as if somehow knowing that if he did, it would be his very last goodbye.


	8. This Isn't My Business And You Know It

Needless to say, I didn't sleep after that. I paced the length of my cage, my beautiful, massive, well-appointed cage. I finished the bottle of wine, and while that seemed to stop the pacing, it did little for the way my thoughts were rocketing around inside my skull at a mile a minute. All the little clues, the visions, the seemingly random meetings… they were building up to something. Leading up to a climax that was going to throw a rain of tears down upon Bear Valley and everyone in it.

Antonio Sorrentino was going to die, and his blood was going to fountain all over my sister's wedding day.

Unless I could stop it. Somehow, I had to stop it.

But that would require me getting out of this house. Which wasn't a possibility in the slightest. Trust me, I tried it. Nevermind the fact that the fence to the outside world truly _WAS_ locked from the outside, let's not forget that the Ravenswood estate, much like Stonehaven, was literally in the middle of nowhere. We'd driven for at least an hour before we'd reached that dirt path pretending to be a road, and if memory served, we hadn't seen so much as an echo of a street light after we'd left the city proper. Meaning there were no neighbors around me. For miles.

And miles.

And miles.

So if I jumped the six-foot high iron fence and managed to find my way to the main road, there was simply nowhere for me to go. Without a vehicle of some sort, I could be walking the highway for days. Providing I even had an inkling of what direction to walk in. Not for the first time did I kick myself for trusting Antonio so blindly, for sinking into that feeling of safety and protection that I had lacked all my life. Stars above, it was like he knew just what to say and do to get me to follow him without complaint.

And through all this, my mind kept flashing back to that snippet of conversation wherein Antonio all but spelled out the terms of my sentence via cell phone.

_"Jeremy, it's Antonio. It's done. Yes, Lotte's safe at Ravenswood. I'll be there as soon as I can."_

_It's done._

Translation: I have Lotte.

_Safe at Ravenswood._

Translation: she's locked up tighter than the crown jewels. And the best part? She went willingly.

_I'll be there as soon as I can._

Translation: I'm heading straight for my death at all possible speeds. In fact, I may swan-dive my way into it gleefully. Be ready with the score-cards, will ya?

I lay my head against the iron bars, trying my level best not to think of them as prison bars. Antonio didn't want to hurt me. Jeremy didn't want to hurt me. That part was pretty obvious. They'd had ample opportunity to do that several times over, and yet chose instead to encase me in soft, luxurious surroundings until whatever was going on was over. So why did this feel like a betrayal of sorts? Why lock in me, if they only feared the things outside?

Didn't you lock a door from the inside to protect someone, and lock the door from the outside to…

My eyes snapped open wide, the dawning realization making me sick to my stomach. "You lock a door from the outside to keep people from getting out. Or, say, seeing something they weren't supposed to see."

Like, perhaps, whatever this Alpha business was about.

Shit, what _had_ I just stumbled into?

I was running before I knew it, heading back to the house and slamming the door behind me. Locks clicked into place with oiled ease, my hand trembling the whole time. My mind screaming that locking those doors only bought me precious seconds, because Antonio and his family had the keys. No amount of closing my eyes again, of trying to think rationally, would calm me. Because that tingling started in my fingertips, the precursor to the hunch, the split-second knowledge that I was right.

Right to be afraid. Right to know that I wasn't leaving this place without permission. Right to believe that my future was now indelibly woven, scorched even, into the tapestry that was the Sorrentino-Danvers dynasty.

Dynasty… stars, why had I thought that word? It was somehow so much more terrifying than destiny, implying a future tied to generations rather than a few scant years of one life.

Alpha. My destiny was tied to that one word, carelessly tripped from my tongue when trying to save the life of a man I once trusted.

Alpha.

The real Alpha.

But why? And who? And what? It made no sense. Just like it made absolutely no sense to hang around here and wait for them to come for me. Wanting to hurt me physically was one thing. Hurting me psychologically by keeping me prisoner was something else entirely. And I so wasn't down with waiting to see what other mind trick they had in store for me.

Even if they meant well in doing it. Stars, I had to stop thinking like that. I had to stop giving them the benefit of the doubt. I was willing to bet that the US government "meant well" when they dropped the nuclear bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but that was little comfort to everyone killed there.

I scooped my phone up off the kitchen counter, dialing instantly. She picked up in two rings.

"Lotte, where the hell are you? I've been worried sick!"

"Char, I'm—"

My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth on its own accord and stuck there. What exactly was I going to say? I was a prisoner of the Sorrentinos? I got in the car willingly with a pseudo stranger and rode out BFE Nowhere with him? I didn't even know where I was! Somewhere still in Bear Valley, of course. Antonio wasn't stupid enough to jeopardize his son's case in the slightest by taking me out of the city limits. Not even with a pack of lawyers at his heels. All I had was a name I'd never heard before: Ravenswood.

A simple word. A simple name. Like Alpha.

And hadn't uttering that one word to Antonio just shattered my little world. Could I really do that to Char, drag her kicking and screaming into this mess?

"I'm okay," I said, feeling the fight drain from me. Like hell I'd tell her where I was now. Then there'd be two of us in this cage. "Char, I just wante… I wanted to say I love you and I'm okay."

"You love me? You're okay?" She repeated, voice raising an octave with each syllable. "Dammit, Lotte, I'm your lawyer. More than that, I'm your sister! I need to know where you are at all times right now."

"I… I'm safe."

"Safe. Hrm, I think I know that place. Right at the intersection of bullshit and what-the-hell-is-wrong."

"Char—"

"No, don't you dare try to calm me down. You aren't okay and you aren't safe. I can hear it in your voice. Tell me what's going on. I called every hotel in Bear Valley and no one has seen you. No one remembers your car, either. It was literally like you'd just disappeared. Poof! And the court doesn't look favorably on vanishing acts, Lotte, not even in Vegas where that stage magic crap belongs."

_Stay inside, lock the doors, and don't speak to anyone. Anyone at all. _

Antonio's words. God, he hadn't wanted me to talk to anyone because he'd made me vanish. If I hadn't just called Char, no one would have ever known what had happened to me. I was literally a shallow grave and a milk carton photo away from being lost forever.

"Lotte? Lotte, are you there? Talk to me!"

I had to clear my throat twice before I could answer. "I'm here, Char. Look, I'm safe, okay. I can't tell you where other than I'm still in Bear Valley."

"Charlotte—"

"I'm planning to be at the wedding, so stop worrying. Just… give me until tonight to call you back. I'm not in violation of any legality or law. You may not like it, but you are my lawyer and as long as I'm not breaking the law, you don't have to tell anyone where I am, right?"

There was a long silence, so long that I thought for a moment that she had put on a coat, grabbed her keys, and was halfway to her car. Willing to drive every inch of Bear Valley to find me.

I couldn't let that happen. One of us should get to be the Princess for real, to have her happily ever after and escape the Enchanted Forest. I pumped as much cheerful bravado into my voice as I could.

"Charlene—"

"Yes," she growled, the word sounding as if it was pulled by force from her lips. "Yes, that's technically all true. But Lotte, I'm worried. What do you think you can do to alter this case? What do you possess that Aunt Karen doesn't?"

"She's not on this case anymore."

Char snorted. "If you believe for one second that she isn't out there doing everything she can to clear you, you're out of your goddamn mind."

I had a tiny vision for a moment, of her standing in the living room right under the giant cross above the fireplace. It almost made me smile. Almost. "You really use that language in mom's house?"

"You think that's bad, wait until you hear what I'm thinking right now."

The smile won for one glorious moment. "We are so sisters."

"And you are so dead when I get my hands on you. I love you, you stubborn bitch."

"Back at you."

"You have until ten tonight, do you hear me? And I want hourly texts from you. Something simple that I can use in court to prove you are still in the area. Otherwise I'm calling every news and TV station in the state and claiming you've been kidnapped."

Oh, how true that was. Only she didn't know it, not on a conscious level at any rate. "Deal."

It took everything in my power to push the END button, to cut off that final line to the outside world. Antonio was going to be furious with me for calling her, and a tiny part of me took satisfaction in that. Even scared out of my wits, I was still petty. Sue me.

The phone went into my pocket, and with nothing left to do, I started to pace again. The décor I'd so admired mere hours ago had taken on a sinister hue in light of my new reality, the creams and bold woods inlaid with gold like the throne of a tyrant—of _Mafioso Dons_—that mocked my ignorance. _Run all you like_, their shadows whispered, _because you can't go very far. The trap is sprung. The doors are locked. And I have all the time in the world to hunt you at my leisure._

Way wrong thoughts to have when one was trying to calm the freak down and apply logic to a situation.

I ran up the stairs to my room, slamming that door and leaning against it, trying to keep a metaphysical destiny at bay with real-world objects. Stars, how stupid was that? But my body refused to move, to give into the truth that there was precisely nothing I could do if Antonio or Jeremy came for me right then and there. They had the keys. I had… me. Guess who had the better odds?

I slid down the door, wrapping my arms around my knees, and slowly rocked myself. With everything I'd determined, with all this scary stuff (most likely blown way out of proportion due to my state of mild shock), the knowledge that Antonio was going to die today would not leave me. The tears came, finally. The ones I'd bottled up behind a thick layer of resolve the moment I'd returned to this place, the ones that had tainted my childhood each and every time someone called me a witch, uncorked themselves and flooded my emotional gates. I sobbed until I was delirious, and finally sleep came.

* * *

"LOTTE!"

It was the scream that woke me more so than the thunderous boom of those double front doors flying open. I jerked, momentarily unaware of how I ended up on the floor, or even in the room. My mind attributed the slam of twin doors into the corresponding walls with the arrival of emergency patients to the ER back home. For a moment there I was home in Seattle, expecting to find myself dressed in scrubs and laying on a gurney against a wall, having stolen a few precious minutes of sleep during a lull in my shift.

That so wasn't the case. I was in Bear Valley, locked inside a mansion, and listening to Nick scream my name.

"LOTTE!"

I managed to scramble out of the way of the bedroom door mere seconds before Nick threw it open hard enough to crack the plaster in the wall behind it. "Nick, what—"

That's as far as I got before he was reaching for me, hand latching onto my forearm and hoisting me to my feet. "We need you, now!"

"Need me for wha—oh my god, what happened? Is that blood on your hands?"

"It's not mine," was all he said, dragging me down the stairs. "Do you have a medical kit of some kind?"

"Yes, I have a tool set that I was using to practice…"

That's when reality drove a home run right down my emotional center field, and I tried to jerk to a stop. Nick wasn't having any of that. The moment I started to resist, he switched tactics and I found myself swept up into his arms like he was Rhett Butler or something. Clay was a step behind him, all my bags piled into his arms, my suitcase trailing behind him.

They didn't bother to lock up behind them. I don't think they closed the front door. Stars above, the keys were still in the ignition of that same SUV Antonio had used to bring me here in the first place, the engine running. Clay dropped one of my bags long enough to open the door to the backseat. Nick's only concession to my comfort was ducking his shoulder low, tossing me into the backseat without skimming my head on the doorframe.

I bounced twice before my back hit the far door. That's how hard he tossed me inside.

That's when I made with the fish-out-of-water routine, staring at him. The effort to toss me didn't even seem to faze him!

My bags were tossed in right after me, the door slammed shut, and Clay leapt into the passenger seat. The time it had taken to open the front door, collect me, and hit this car again under a minute—tops. Gravel and dirt flew as Nick laid on the accelerator, taking that circular driveway like a professional on the NASCAR circuit. He never slowed down, hurtling us through the iron gates and out into… god alone knew where they were taking me this time.

One whole minute, and I was kidnapped anew. By people I was supposed to trust. It took my body even less time to reject the fear in me and produce a sufficient amount of Vitamin Bitch to go along with that stunning realization.

"Who's hurt?" I snapped out, fumbling my bags away enough to get the seatbelt locked in place. "And where are we going?"

Nick's mouth worked silently, his face contorting back and forth from lines of concentration on driving and wanting to dissolve into a mask of pain.

"Antonio's hurt. He needs a doctor," Clay answered, staring into my eyes via the rearview mirror. "And I'm taking you to Stonehaven."

"Why aren't you taking him to a hospital instead?"

The reflection of those eyes hardened. "I can't tell you that."

Oh no, he wasn't going to get off that freaking easily. "So let me get this straight. Antonio is hurt bad enough to necessitate breaking the speed laws of this city—and probably the laws of physics judging by how fast these trees are whipping past the windows—and bring a doctor to him. But not enough to require hospitalization?"

He didn't say anything. He kept staring at me through the mirror.

"What if I say no?"

"Lotte, you can't—"

"Nick," Clay cut him off. "Drive the car. Lotte, you are free to say no. We won't force you to help him."

My own eyes took on that hard glare. "But you know for a fact that once I see him, I won't say no. No matter what this will cost me, I'll still try to help him. Damn you, Clayton Danvers, do you know what this is going to do to me? I could—and probably will—loose my license! If he needs a doctor, he needs to be in a hospital. Not to mention the fact that I only brought my personal suture kit. I'm not a mobile hospital with supplies—"

"We have supplies."

Now if that wasn't a confession along the lines of 'why, yes, we are mobbed up,' I didn't know what was.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered softly, with feeling. And then decided not to be so soft. "Son of a bitch, Clay! What are you guys into? Just what in the nine hells are you dragging _me_ into!"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darling."

"Sorry? Sorry isn't good enough. Talk to me," I got silence in return. I punched the back of Nick's seat, and when that didn't work, I kicked it like a child. "Dammit, talk to me! What the hell is going on?"

The rest of the drive to Stonehaven was filled with silence. Silence, and a rising fear that we were too late.

* * *

Elena was on the front porch as we pulled to a dirt-flying stop. I would have said gravel-spinning, but Stonehaven didn't have a gravel drive at the front of the house. And I was too pissed to come up with any other kind of description. Needless to say, Clay and Nick popped open their doors almost before the car had stopped moving. That Elena woman chose that exact point in time to storm out of the front door, nearly throwing herself at Clay. And not in the loving kind of way.

"Clay!" She lowered the phone from her ear, shoving it absently into a back pocket. "Where have you and Nick been? Jeremy's been asking…" her voice trailed away as I popped out of the backseat, one black bag slung over my shoulder. Whatever relief she found in his presence was washed away on a tide of shock and anger. "Tell me I'm not seeing this. _Tell_ me you didn't bring her here! She can't come here!"

Well, that was such a warm welcome, now wasn't it? The look I turned on Nick pretty much said that, too.

"It wasn't my choice," I gritted out as Nick grabbed my arm again and started leading me into the house. "As evidenced by my escort, here."

Elena stood as if to block the door. "She can't come in and you know why."

"See, I'm not wanted here, Nick. My lunch appointment with Jeremy wasn't until 1pm today and it's not even noon yet. So why don't you get out of my way and I'll call a cab."

Clay leapt onto the porch without using the stairs, grabbing Elena's arm much in the same way that Nick held onto mine. He steered her a few steps back, and I stood there as they had a rather quick and heated discussion. Nick's grip didn't slack in the slightest, and he looked for all the world as if letting go of me would mean letting go of the most precious thing the world. And that terrified him.

Terrified him enough that the expression on his face cut through some of the anger in me at being kidnapped for the second time. "Nick, how bad is it?"

One tear slid down that perfectly sculpted face. "Bad, Lotte. It's really bad. I'm sorry to bring you here, to involve you in all this. Please, save my dad."

I swallowed hard, and against everything I had ever been taught in every ethics class I'd taken, I nodded. "There a back way inside?" I whispered.

I barely finished that question before Nick was moving, hoisting me up into his arms again and running—full on running—to the backside of the house. Stars, I'd never felt anyone move this fast before, holding me as if I weighed nothing. Elena caught onto what we were doing moments after we took off. But that put her moments behind us.

We were inside before she could get through the house to stop us.

"Nicky," Jeremy greeted, a faint peppering of shock in his strained tone.

Strained, as I could see blood all over his hands, smeared here and there on the floor of the kitchen, and a large blossom of it growing on his right side of his shirt, near his kidney. He was pale, hurting. The shock I was assuming came from my presence. His eyes locked on mine, and I knew that if I let my feet touch the floor of Stonehaven, I was sealing my fate. It was like the universe held its breath, waiting for me to choose which path of the fork in the road that lead to my destiny.

Until Antonio coughed, blood-colored foam exiting his mouth in tiny droplets. It was then that I noticed he was laying on the table, shirt ripped open, and a bandage wrapped around his middle. That had a way of shattering the spell. I squirmed out of Nick's arms, and my feet hit that floor hard.

The choice made. The path chosen.

That also brought everyone back into motion.

"Nicky," Jeremy said again, soft but firm. "You shouldn't have done this."

"Jeremy," Elena said, rushing into the room, Clay on her heels. "I tried to stop them."

"I know," he said, staring hard into Nick's eyes a long moment before nodding, before looking so weary that I thought he was going to collapse right then and there. "What's done is done."

God, that sounded so… _final_.

"Can we all try a little thing called factual conversation and leave the philosophies of done and not done for later?" I snapped, reaching Antonio and visually inspecting his wounds. "Start telling me what I'm dealing with here."

"Knife wound," Jeremy answered, stepping up beside me. "We've cleaned it and I've applied hemostatic powder."

"Good," I said, fishing in my kit and coming up with a whole lot of nothing. Suturing supplies wouldn't help me check his heartbeat. "Clay says you have supplies. So make with the supplies! I need a stethoscope if you have one. The quick-clot powder saved his life thus far, but if he's still coughing up blood, he's bleeding internally. Probably looking at a nicked artery or vein."

A stethoscope was placed into my hands and I checked his heart/lungs. "Stable but low. How long has he been like this?"

"Two hours, I think," Nick answered this time, coming round the other side of the table.

"Two hours since he first coughed blood or two hours since the stabbing?"

"The stabbing."

I cursed softly. "We don't have much time. I need scissors."

The bandage cut away, revealing the oozing mess that accompanied quick-clot when applied to an area far too damaged. I shook my head. "Need something to clean this out. Antonio, this is going to—"

"To… hurt," he managed a faint smile. "I know. Do… your best… Lotte. Sorry… you were… involved…"

"You all keep saying that. Apologize by staying with me, okay?"

"Yes… Doc…"

"I—"

I cut my own self off as all four of them—Clay, Elena, Nick, and Jeremy—each took a shoulder or a leg, and braced Antonio for the pain that was to come.

* * *

I sat in the third floor room that was obviously the Stonehaven Recovery ward, my hands shaking so badly that I could barely chart. They say that doctors make their handwriting illegible on purpose, just to be dicks. People never take into consideration just how much pressure a surgeon is under, or how the time it would take to pen a perfectly legible note could be the difference between literal life or death.

Or in my case, how horrifically frightening a particular surgery could be. So frightening in fact that little shockwaves of memory rocked my nervous system. Antonio had tried to scream when I poured the antiseptic over the wound, tried to buck away when I sponged the area for a better view. The lower intestine was completely bisected in more than four areas, consistent an upward left-handed slice with an incredibly sharp blade. And his sliced organs were currently dumping digestive juices and other unprocessed fecal matter all over his uncut intestines.

Stars, the pain had to be atrocious, maddening.

This was a nightmare, a god-awful mess under the best of operating conditions. I knew Attending surgeons with more years of experience than I had life on this planet that would have backed away from this kind of wound. And even if they stayed, they would have had another Attending and a sea of Residents at their side to help with the sutures.

I was a first year Resident. Alone. Staring at the nightmare some asshole had made of Antonio Sorrentino's insides.

It was a blessing that Antonio fainted at that immediate moment. No one needed to be awake and aware when someone else was about to reach into their body and start literally sewing their insides back together.

"Jeremy, I need you to hold here and here," I'd snapped, grabbing the man's hands and shoving them inside Antonio, closing his fingers over the worst of the wounds. "Keep pressure like this. Clay and Nick, I need you up here."

I ran to the supplies, digging through large plastic bins until I found what I needed. "I need to intubate him. Hold his head like so…"

Miracle of all miracles, they did exactly what I asked. With the skill of people used to being asked to perform medical procedures they didn't understand. That in and of itself was creepy, but I didn't have time to worry about why they all had that particular skill. Not with Antonio's life on the line. I attached the BVM to the tube and I turned to Nick.

"I need you to breathe for him, do you understand me? I need you to pump this balloon on a One-Two-Three count. One-Two-Three pump. One-Two-Three pump. Slow and steady. Can you do this?"

He didn't respond, just took the balloon in hand and kept up the rotation.

"Clay, you are going to be my living heart monitor. Fingers here on his pulse," I pushed his index and middle into the side of Antonio's neck. "Feel that? That needs to remain steady. If it dips or rises, I need to know instantly, okay?"

Again, no response. Just this determination that poured off of him in waves.

"Elena, you are my new scrub nurse," I rolled out my suture kit and the handful of clamps I actually found inside their medical supplies, pointing as I spoke. "Clamp. Scalpel. Needle. Dissolving sutures. Regular sutures. When I ask for something, you dip it in this bowl of antiseptic and hand it over. Think you can remember that?"

"I got it."

"Okay," Now came the hard part. "Jeremy, that leaves you as my intern. I hope you're as fast a learner as I am. You're about to get a crash-course in intestinal surgery..."

Antonio's heart had stopped twice as Jeremy and I literally sewed him back together. CPR, prayer, and a freaking miracle forced his heart to keep beating though all of that. Jeremy worked fast once I showed him how to do the proper stitch, and blessedly, oh so blessedly, Antonio remained unconscious. Nick whispering in his ear feverishly, begging him to hold on. Over four hundred sutures were placed before his heart rate started to rise in a good way. And still he wasn't out of the woods.

We had to close him back up after the second time his heart stopped. Thankfully, there was no bleeder. Now… now we had to trust his body to heal enough for me to go back in and finish what we'd started. If he made it through the night.

That was a very big if.

I closed the cover on the little notebook Elena had given me, the one I was currently using as a makeshift chart, and I leaned back in the chair. My eyes closed, fatigue in the wake of all that adrenaline threatening to drag me under. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Trying to stay awake. I couldn't sleep here. Not in a million years. Not knowing that something was so wrong with these two families that it made the Soprano's look like a kid show.

"You should sleep," Nick said softly.

He was sitting on the floor next to his father's bed, the antique blood transfusion device held against his chest. Long tubes filled with that precious scarlet fluid of life ran from him to that device, and from that device to his father. His eyes were at half-mast, too, looking as if he was one step away from face-planting the wood floor.

"Look who's talking," I said, rising and walking over to him. "Let me take this off. You've given enough."

His hand locked around the device with an iron grip. "No, I can give more."

"You're going to give too much. Stop being a stubborn ass and give me your arm. You've got to trust his body to heal on its own. There isn't anything more we can do right now."

Those eyes found mine, bright with unshed tears. "Will he make it? Tell me he'll make it and I'll believe you."

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Sighed. "Nick, I never give absolute answers when it comes to this. Antonio's strong. Stronger than most men I've ever met. If anyone has the chance to pull through, it's him."

Nick closed his eyes tightly but nodded. "Stay with him, please. Stay with us. We need you."

I had to take a moment to get my temper under control, to stifle the flash of utter rage that flooded through me at those statements. "What you need is a hospital," I said, removing the needle from his arm and placing a cotton ball over it, folding his arm to hold it in place. "What you need is a kick to the freaking head for refusing to go to one. No matter what you all are into, I'm sure your lawyers can get you out of it with a reduced sentence. Five years in jail is better than a lifetime of hugging a gravestone, Nick."

His hand locked on my wrist. "Is that what you really think of us?"

"No," I pulled back, and he let me. "I don't know what to think of you all anymore. I used to trust you with my life. Now…"

"Now you don't."

"Can you blame me? You and your dad kidnapped me. Or did you think I would miss the fact that you locked me _inside_ Ravenswood?"

He flinched slightly, watching as I took the needle from Antonio's arm, placed the cotton ball, and taped it down. "Would it matter if I said we really meant it as a protection?"

"Yes. No. Hell, Nick, I don't know. Stars, this whole situation is all jacked up."

The hand that had gripped my wrist now rested on the back of my neck, the heat of him like a balm against muscles so tense they were about to tear. "You aren't alone, Lotte. You aren't the only one suffering."

"But it's not my fight, don't you get it? This isn't my business and you know it."

"She's right," Elena cut in softly, no blame or fire in her words this time. She, too, was pale and sad. Worried. And that cut through my need to tell her to go screw. "This wasn't her fight to begin with."

She glanced at Antonio, arms wrapped around herself. I followed her gaze, and understood. "But it is now," I finished, rubbing my eyes.

"It is now," she confirmed and gave herself a visible shake. "Nick, Jeremy wants to see us in his study. Dr. Morgan, I have to ask you to stay here. Please keep watch on Antonio?"

"Sure, sure," I sighed, slumping back in the chair. I tore a page from the notebook and scribbled something—legibly—across it. "I don't know how much of this you can get in town, but as much as you can would be appreciated."

"Kiwi and coconut water?" she asked.

"Kiwi is a natural blood thinner. I need to give its juice to Antonio in regular intervals. It'll keep clots from forming on the sutures inside him. Coconut water is a sterile solution. They used it in World War II when they ran out of saline solution. You have an IV kit here. It's old but it'll do. We need to keep him hydrated."

She nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Morgan."

"It's Lotte, and make certain that you get the kiwi fruit and whole coconuts. No bottled or canned juices. I need the real, organic items or this isn't going to work."

Again she nodded, and Nick climbed to his feet. "Lotte…"

"Later," I said, sitting next to my patient again. "Go talk with Jeremy. I've got nowhere else to go right now."

They left, and I tried very hard not to give into another bout of tears. God, I hated—_HATED_—Bear Valley.


	9. Part Of My Destiny Fulfilled

"So many little things you take for granted, and then suddenly it could be over."

I looked up from the notebook, the last notation I was making in Antonio's "chart" momentarily forgotten. Jeremy's voice waft up from the floors below, sounding slightly tinny through the old duct work. Glancing at Antonio's still unconscious form, I crept over to the nearest air vent, the thing an artistic marvel of old-fashioned ironwork. Don't ask me why I was creeping, considering they were at least two floors below me. Just chock it up to the things prisoners do when they were scared out of their logical wits.

Besides, if I could hear what was being said in Jeremy's office, that probably went both ways. Stars, he could have been sitting down there the whole time Nick and I had our partial heart-to-heart, listening to every word with crystal clarity.

I completely discarded that notion almost before I'd thought it. If he knew about the acoustics in this place, he wouldn't have asked them all to meet him in his study right now. Dollars to donuts, he didn't spend much time up here, and never when others were in his personal space. Otherwise he'd have rerouted the pipes in this house so that no one could do what I was doing—eavesdrop on him.

"These mutts need to be put down for good," Clay growled, almost too softly for me to hear.

"I agree."

"No middle ground. No mercy," Clay continued in that same low growl.

"Elena?"Jeremy asked, soliciting her opinion. As if the fact that Clay had just suggested forcing people into a permanent dirt nap wasn't completely psycho.

"They killed Pete. They almost killed Antonio," she answered, agreeing with the dirt nap suggestion. "What more is it going to take until we fight back?"

"This is more than just killing a few Mutts," Nick added.

I shoved my hands against my mouth, eyes widening. What the hell was this? The Ted Bundy Brady Bunch Special? Only this time, they weren't planning a family trip to the mall. Unless it was to pick up more implements of murder. Gave all new meaning to the phrase 'the family that kills together, stays together.'

"Nick," Jeremy said. "We can talk about this later."

"No. If my father dies, I'll have the rest of my life to grieve. We all will. Right now, we need to go on the offensive, find out who else is involved and just how far this reaches."

"We also need to find out who that woman was at the ambush."Elena added.

"The Mutts are getting desperate if they're bringing in humans to do their dirty work."

I jerked back from the grate before I could stop myself, staring at it as if I could stare down the pipeline and gape right in Nick's face. Humans? Did he just say _humans_ as if he wasn't one of them—one of _us_?

And then Clay followed up that one-liner with a shocker of his own. "Where do we start?"

Where do we start. If I hadn't known him since we were kids, I would have envisioned him picking up a bunch of bladed objects and a hockey mask. That how insane this all sounded to me. And frightening. Oh. My. God. They were going to kill people.

Bad people, yes. People that had apparently killed this Pete fellow, and had tried to spill Antonio's intestines all over the freaking road. But did that give them permission to go all vigilante on these psychos?

"Cain," Jeremy said, his tone that of a headsman about to drop the axe. "That's the weakest link."

"Cain's hardly weak." This, from Clay.

"Yes, he is. He's mentally weak. He's sloppy. He's careless. We need to find him and get him to talk."

I started scooting back from the vent, eyes so wide I thought they were going to roll out of my head like marbles. Or was that my sanity? Probably both.

"I'll go to the campground—see if I can pick up a scent," Elena replied, her footsteps hard on the wood floors as she headed for the door.

"Not alone. You're going to go with Clay," Jeremy ordered. "Nick, you and I will stay and watch over Antonio. And talk about what's happened today."

I didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what that last sentence meant. By talk, Jeremy almost certainly meant some kind of mob-like torture. By what's happened today, he referred to bringing me here. My back bumped against Antonio's bed, his hand falling limply off the side. Landing on my shoulder. I jerked, emitted a tiny, rather embarrassingly girly squeak of a sound. And buried my face in my hands.

* * *

I was beginning to see a pattern emerging here. This was the second time that Nick had come bounding through an upstairs door, of a house in which I was a prisoner, and found me seated on the floor after a good, long, fear-induced cry. He didn't see it that way, though. He took one look at my tear-streaked face and went all shades of pale, those eyes locking onto the still form of his father.

I shook my head rapidly, so rapidly that I whipped myself with the ends of my hair. "No, he's stable," I sniffled. "Still hasn't woken yet, but his pulse is steady."

The relief that flooded him was nearly palpable. The sort of relief I was used to seeing on the worried faces of the family of my patients. The sort of relief that was usually so gratifying it made me smile for hours afterwards. That loved one wasn't out of danger, certainly, but he or she was at least still living. Still there for a while longer, and that was always a good reason to hope.

It's hard to let that warm smile touch your lips when staring at one of your captors. No matter your past history with him.

Nick stumbled into the room, the tray of food in his hands barely making it to the little folding table before he, too, planted his ass on the floor. Relief and dread and fear making him seem young and old all at the same time. And a small, treacherous part of me wanted to crawl to him, to comfort him. Wanted to march down those stairs and kick Jeremy in the face for whatever he'd said to Nick to make him look like that.

Great. Just super. Someone just crown me Queen of the Stockholm's. That stupid syndrome was already digging its crazy-ass roots into my brain if I was thinking anything remotely close to that.

I inched a little further away.

Nick's eyes lifted from his father at that, finding and latching onto mine. "You're afraid."

"Gee, Captain Obvious, what was your first clue?" I managed to somewhat snap at him.

He tried to smile. He honestly tried. It came out broken, and finally he just gave up. "Lotte, you have to understand—"

"No. No, I don't."

It took every ounce of my control not to scream that at him. Not to cry again. If only for Antonio's sake. Antonio was a kidnapping, trust-breaking—and if I believed any of what I'd just heard—murdering bastard. But he was still my patient. The Hippocratic Oath didn't say I had to like the life I saved. Only that I had to save it. Having a full on stark-raving meltdown wasn't in his best interest. Even if it was in mine.

"I don't have to understand anything," I said, staring down at my shoes. My blood-covered shoes. In the race to save Antonio's life, it hadn't ever dawned on me to slip them off, or cover them. "Nick, I don't want to understand anything. I want to go home. I want to pretend this didn't happen."

"We need you to stay a little longer, Lotte. Just until we can…"

"Until you can what?" I picked up where he trailed off. "Convince me that I didn't just perform surgery on a goddamn kitchen table? That I didn't just break the law and forfeit my license by not reporting this to the police, or at the very least calling for an ambulance?"

He flinched with each word, but when he looked back up at me, something more than apology was in his eyes. Something that was sorrowful and dark, but determined to stay whatever course he and Jeremy had planned. Because after what I'd heard, Jeremy had to be the Don, the mastermind. Jeremy ran this freaking show. He was the… the alpha… if I was to borrow the term I'd heard in my vision.

"Jeremy wants to talk to you. He'll tell you what you're allowed to know."

"Jeremy can kiss my ass."

"Don't be like this—"

"Oh, I think I'm entitled to be as hostile as I want right about now. You _kidnapped_ me. It's the rules."

He ran his hands through his hair, making fists in it. "They were going to kill you if we didn't do something."

"Which, they? The people that did this to Antonio, or the Braxtons? Because right now I have a huge list of people that want me dead and it's all your fault. And by you, I mean everyone that lives in this house. Oh, and I suppose calling the police wasn't in the realm of possibility if you thought I was in danger?"

"We can't."

"Just like you couldn't call an ambulance to save your father."

The moment I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing. He physically jerked, as if I had hauled off and punched him in the head. Maybe I had, at least emotionally. And then I was the one running my hands through my hair, making fists in it.

"Nick, I—"

"No, it's okay," He said, his tone indicating it was anything but. "You're afraid, and you have a right to be. I'll go. Just… take care of my father. And eat something. The food on the tray is for you," he rose to his feet. "I'll see to it that your things are brought up here. You probably want to shower and change."

I flicked a glance down at myself, and realized more than just my shoes bore traces of Antonio's blood.

"Nick—"

"When you're done, Jeremy wants to talk to you," He held up a hand, cutting off my protests. "He's going to talk to you, Lotte. It'll be easier if you do it willingly. I… I don't want to bring you downstairs."

Meaning he didn't want to drag me kicking and screaming, but he would. The look in his eyes said as much. Whatever kind of crime family they were, they were at least loyal to the bone. If Jeremy told him to rip my head off, I'm fairly certain he would. He wouldn't be happy about it, but that wouldn't stop him from popping my head off like a power-aid cap.

I started to say something, and closed my mouth when Antonio coughed. Fear and worry aside, the fact that Nick had threatened to toss me over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes if I didn't go to Jeremy willingly, was all forgotten when Antonio made that soft sound. We were side by side next to that bed in a hot second, Nick holding Antonio's hand and my own making with the stethoscope game. Checking lungs, heart…

"Dad," Nick whispered softly, urgently. "Dad, it's Nicky. Dad…"

Antonio's eyelids fluttered and finally opened. "Nic…ky…"

And he smiled. A tiny, frail, tremulous thing, but it was real and genuine, and made that glow spiral throughout me despite my circumstances. Nick's knees hit the floor, his forehead pressed to his father's hand. His shoulders shook silently, relief and worry and everything in between pouring out in that quiet expression of love.

Antonio's eyes slid over in my direction, and that same mingled gratitude and sorrow shown in them as they had in Nick's.

"Five minutes," I said, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "Five minutes alone, and I'll need you to go back to resting."

"Tha…nk… you…"

I nodded and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind me.

* * *

Jeremy was in the kitchen when I stepped off the stairs, a hand to one side—his wounded side—the other attempting to pick up the bloodied gauze and other detritus that accompanied any emergency procedure. He glanced up at me about the time I hesitated in taking that last step off the landing. His lips twitched, though I couldn't tell if he was trying to reflexively smile, or frown, or… Hell, I wasn't even certain _he_ knew what expression he was trying to use.

I closed my eyes. Stars, I wanted to be mad at him. I wanted to scream at him since I couldn't scream at Nick. I wanted to kick him repeatedly for doing this to me. But more than that, I just wanted to ask him why. Why me? Why take me when there had to be other, more qualified surgeons that he'd dealt with locally. People he'd known longer, trusted more.

But it's really hard to hold onto anger at someone when they are literally standing in the blood of their best friend. When they are hurting both physically and emotionally, and had no choice but to clean up what had very nearly been the last place that friend drew breath.

I was pissed and petty, but I wasn't the type to kick a puppy. Or someone that vulnerable in that moment.

I stepped into the kitchen, stomped really, and grabbed the first chair I could. I swung it around and pointed. "Sit."

I didn't wait to see if he did. I rummaged through the supply bins against the wall until I found needle, thread, gauze and antiseptic.

"You people don't believe in pain-killers, do you?" I tossed over my shoulder, finally giving up on finding anything to numb the area.

He didn't say anything, and when I glanced over my shoulder, he was sitting the chair. Watching me. That unreadable expression I'd always called the "Jeremy look" back on his face. Man, I was too tired for this shit right now. Too tired, and worried and scared and… fed up.

I placed what I needed on the lid of one of the bins, using it like a tray. There wasn't an area of the table or counters that wasn't contaminated from the surgery of earlier.

"You need to take off that shirt," I said, threading the needle and placing it and the thread in corresponding clamps.

He took off the shirt. Letting it fall into the mess on the floor. I shook my head, not sure why I cared. The clothing any of us had worn was already ruined, stained with the blood of a good man. Still, it seemed… defeated. That motion, that simple act, somehow like the lowering of a flag. Like surrender.

Surrender to destiny, to the fact that this moment could not have been avoided no matter what we wished. I shook my head, trying to chase away that feeling. Because there was a vision on the horizon, a heaviness in the air that let me know this day wasn't the worst we would face together.

I may have altered the destiny of Antonio Sorrentino, but there was always my appointment with a cage and the worst pain I'd ever face…

I forced myself to stare at the red gauze on his abdomen, to focus on this singular moment, to not run screaming from the room. He peeled away the sopping square of fabric, revealing a stab wound that would have had most men on the floor wailing for their mommy.

"You all are insane," I hissed between my teeth, kneeling down beside him to get a better angle.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he said.

I lifted an eyebrow, my expression repeating my previous sentence far better than my words had. "That's no excuse. You and Antonio both need to go to a hospital."

"That isn't an option for us."

I took small satisfaction when he jumped slightly as I stuck him with the needle. It was his turn to look at me like I was the one out of my gourd. Yes, that jab had been harder than it needed to be for the stitch, but it was no less than he deserved. When I didn't so much as flinch at that look, owning what I'd done, his lips completed that smile he'd been trying to use. Lopsided, but warm. More of a smirk than a smile, and filled with quiet understanding.

"I deserved that."

My ladylike snort agreed with him, prompting an almost chuckle.

I stitched in silence for a long while, the two of us lost in our thoughts. The quiet punctuated only by the slip of thread through flesh, the occasional sharp intake of breath from him as the stitches pulled the wound closed.

"Charlotte."

I glanced upward. "If you say the words 'I'm sorry' or 'need to stay a little longer' or, heaven help you, some combination of you had me kidnapped in order to protect me, I'm going to do more than stick you with a needle."

"I wanted to say thank you."

I looked away, tied off that final stitch. "I wouldn't let him die."

"I know."

"Great, glad you cleared that up. Glad you knew that before I did, because I seriously considered telling you all to go right to hell," I placed the gauze over the stitches, tapped it down. "It would be no less than you all deserved."

"It isn't in your nature to leave someone hurting."

I rolled my eyes, but only to cover up the fact that he was right. After all this time, he could still see right through me.

"Whatever," I muttered, rising to my feet and dropping the used tools back on the lid. "You spend too much time reading philosophy. Natures can change in the blink of an eye, and nothing is ever done, Jeremy. There's always more."

I felt him rise more than heard it, felt him like static in the air between us. He stood behind me, watching me. Watching my hands grip that table until my knuckles ran white. I was so angry at him, at everyone in Stonehaven. But more than that, I was hurt. Hurt beyond measure, beyond what words could express. So many years of trust just thrown away…

He didn't try to touch me. Thank small miracles for that. If he had, I would have… I don't know. Struck at him, probably. Cried, in all likelihood. And I'd done too much of that lately for my pride to handle. Instead he just stood there like he had that night at Char's wedding shower, the vast gulf of hurt separating us just as surely as that fence had.

"There's always more," he echoed, and then sighed softly. "Lotte, I need you to stay here at Stonehaven. Stay in the rooms we give you. Do not, under any circumstances, go exploring. I want to trust you to do that. Nick, Clay, Elena or myself will be with you if needed."

His words hit like hammer blows, all the things I told him not to say tumbling in that quiet but powerful voice. This was doubtless what Nick had meant when he said Jeremy needed to talk to me. More like give me instructions on what to do/what not to do as an unwilling guest in his home. Expounding on the parameters of my cage and the details of my incarceration at the Stonehaven Home for Broken Trust. I ground my teeth.

"No."

He took a step towards me, resting a hand gently on the back of my neck like Nick had. "This isn't a negotiation. You'll do this for your own protection."

"Or what?" I turned around, expecting him to back away. Not expecting his hand to simply slide along my throat, until it was resting at the base of it. "What will you do? Kill me?"

That challenge flashed in his eyes, turning the blue in them silver, like the sky before the coldest winter storm. "No, I won't kill you."

Because there were so many other things he could do to force my cooperation. He knew it. He knew I knew it. He could choke me to unconsciousness right here and now and I'd wake up locked in some room again. Death didn't have to occur to keep me out of the way.

And I just had to be stupid enough to press the point. I leaned forward against his hand, felt the muscles there contract until he was cupping my throat. Not squeezing, almost as if he locked his fingers to keep even a hint of that from happening. But he didn't let go. He didn't stop me pressing.

His eyes didn't leave mine, his nostrils flaring lightly. My life literally put in his hands, offered up like a sacrifice. Yet that wasn't the stupid part. No, that came next.

I closed my eyes again, trying not to unconsciously sink to that otherworldly heat that poured off of every 'cousin' in the Danvers/Sorrentino 'family.' I was trying to prove a point, dammit. That he couldn't own me, couldn't control me, and that I wasn't going to just follow what he said because he said it. I was the prisoner here, not a card-carrying member of the Danvers-Sorrentino Mafia.

That warmth drifted through me, mingled with the power that gave me my visions. And I saw Jeremy seated before a massive fireplace, a beautiful baby in his arms. Smiling at the little bundle of joy with all the hopes and dreams and love that a father had for his child. A woman's hand drifted from the shadows, resting on his shoulder, and though I couldn't see her face, I saw his. Saw the love in his eyes as he gazed up at her.

"It's all worth it in the end," I heard myself whisper, the words so faint I barely recognized them. "You'll have the thing you wanted most, and will be stronger for it. Trust those that love you, Jeremy Danvers, not those that hate you. Remember that it will all be worth it in the end."

His hand cupped my cheek, and my eyes fluttered open. Unaware his other arm was around my waist, holding me partially upright. My hands rested lightly on his chest. And I was staring into those winter-white eyes, seeing… seeing the wolf eyes from my childhood nightmares. From that day that Char had nearly died.

"What… what did you say?"

"I… I said that I can't stay here," I uttered, not exactly lying but not answering that question. Stars, how could I even begin to explain what I said, what I saw? "You don't understand. Char is getting married tomorrow. Tomorrow. And I have to call her tonight or she's going to tear this town apart looking for me. You… you have to let me do that. You have to let me save her."

The gentle hand on my cheek slid downward, strong fingers gripping my chin, the arm around my waist becoming an inflexible bar of living steel. "Save her from what?"

Oh, he still knew me, all right. That hand on my chin kept me from looking away, the arm at my waist from putting distance between us. Kept me from rebuilding my defenses with that precious, needed distance from his heat.

"I can't protect you, or Charlene, unless you tell me what you know, Lotte."

I searched for that anger from before, that knowledge that he'd freaking kidnapped me. Dug deep in myself for the independence that had carried me through most of my life to tell him we didn't need—or want—his protection. We hadn't done anything to merit it in the first place. Yeah, those words died before they even made it to my tongue. And the physical rejection of his offer by pressing my palms into his chest didn't so much as budge that arm an inch.

He released my chin, though, and I looked away quickly. Which was a mistake. A huge one. Because I realized we were standing in blood. In Antonio's blood, which dried on the floor in smears and rivulets that looked like flowing waves of death.

Like the tide I had seen in that first vision so many years ago, when touching the wolf that had those silver, winter-white eyes.

My mind went blank, flatlining with that revelation, spark-like flashes of memory the only illumination in the dark shock of my soul. That wolf looking down at me, scenting me, and transforming into something man-shaped. But it couldn't be—It shouldn't be. That sort of thing was a myth, a piece of science-fiction and horror. Wolves didn't turn into men and men didn't transform into wolves!

_"The Mutts are getting desperate if they're bringing in humans to do their dirty work." _Nick had said...

_And people really didn't have psychic powers_, a dark part of me whispered. _Normal people couldn't see the future._

Normal people didn't stand in drying pools of blood, either, realizing it was a precursor to violence on a catastrophic scale. That in saving a man's life, I hadn't, in fact, stopped a horrible future from occurring. I had merely participated in the pre-show.

Part of my destiny fulfilled.

Concern swirled in those eyes with blue-tint emotion, his arm the only thing that saved my knees from contact with that hardwood floor. "Charlotte—"

"We have to stop it," I blurted, clutching at him in rising panic as he drug me back to the chair. "Jeremy, you have to let me go. I have to stop it. Somehow, I have to stop that wedding tomorrow. I can't let her die. I can't. You can't. I can't tell you how I know—hell I don't even know how I know—I just do. Please, you have to—"

That hand that had touched my cheek lifted again, pressed to my lips into silence. And he stared in the direction of the front door. Nick appeared on the stairs one second later, looking as if he'd run the entire way down.

"I know," Jeremy said to the question in Nick's eyes. "Take Lotte back upstairs. Keep her there."

And then I heard it, the unmistakable sound of tires coming up the road. Someone was here, and judging by the reactions of both men, it wasn't Clay or Elena. My eyes locked on his, his staring down into mine. And we both knew. Somehow, we both knew I had to try.

Before I could so much as open my mouth to scream, I was hoisted up out of the chair and pushed into Nick's arms. One hand snapped over my mouth, the other arm coming down around my arms and pinning them securely to my side. I was tugged back up the stairs before I uttered the first muffled scream, the first attempt to let whoever was coming up the drive know that I was still alive.


	10. What If They Aren't Human?

I fought.

Oh stars, you have no idea how hard I tried to break free of his arms. I kicked backwards like I had been taught in that self-defense class I'd taken in college. But kicking Nick was like kicking concrete encapsulated in nylon padding. I just could get the right angle to do any real damage. That wasn't helped by the fact that Nick moved liked a professional prize fighter, shifting us around in that hallway so that I couldn't really lash out at the walls, either.

And all the while, my last chance of escaping was rapidly vanishing.

"Morning, Sherriff," I heard Jeremy greet his guest, voice as polished and polite as always.

"Mr. Danvers. Sorry to disturb you. May I have a moment of your time?"

Oh, god. Oh… _god_! I knew that voice. I'd know Aunt Karen's gentle tones anywhere, that cadence that was made for singing lullabies and soft country songs. She was here, literally a few rooms over from me, and I couldn't so much as signal her.

I fought harder, screamed louder.

And got nowhere.

"Are these your paintings?"

"Yes."

"They're beautiful."

"Thank you."

"You remind me of Turner."

I could picture Jeremy smiling, the mellifluous expression never reaching his eyes. Not unless he wanted it to. And right then, he probably didn't. "You know your art."

"My niece's influence on me, actually," she answered, a hint of pride in her voice. "Not all of us Morgans are based in Bear Valley, either. We had great museums in Baltimore, and she encouraged me to visit them."

"I'm assuming you mean Ms. Charlene Morgan?"

Aunt Karen laughed softly. "It's Charlotte that has the true eye for art. She taught me quite a bit. Charlene has a taste for what she likes and focuses in on that, rather than Charlotte's love of scope and different styles. It's that difference that makes them great in their chosen professions."

"Both Ms. Charlene and Dr. Morgan are exceptional young women," Jeremy murmured appropriately, distantly polite. "You must be very proud."

"I am."

Biting Nick's hand did nothing more than give me a taste of coppery Sorrentino blood. Oh, and piss him off. He cursed silently beneath his breath. But never let up. Never let go. Never paused to take a breath or readjust his grip, or any of the other tell-tale actions that I was taught to look for. That was vital for an escape from a more powerful attacker. He pulled me up the stairs, turning with my kicks until we completed some monstrosity of a waltz that went ever upward.

As if he… oh god… as if he had done this sort of thing before!

"Would you like to have a seat?" Jeremy was saying, voice beginning to sound far away. "You have some information about Mr. Braxton?"

"His body was found just inside town limits. His throat was cut, which now makes this a homicide investigation."

"First wolf attacks, and now a murder. You don't think they're related?"

"We'll see where the investigation takes us."

"What does this have to do with my son?"

Their voices were becoming muffled, and with each step upward, I was losing this chance to escape. To get away from whatever this cracked up family had planned for me. Losing my chance to stop whatever was coming for Charlene. I clawed my nails into his arms, drawing blood and further silent curses. And still it wasn't enough.

Nick wrestled me onto the second floor and into the first available room. Elena's room by the looks of it. He kicked the door closed behind him, and then we were falling backwards onto a bed, landing on our sides. Even then he wouldn't let go.

My fear turned into frustrated, terrified sobs. Nick jerked at that, at the feel of my tears hitting his fingers. He almost took his hand from my mouth. Almost. His body moving as if he wanted to try and comfort me, touch my hair or my neck. Stars above, what was it with this family and touching throats, anyway?!

"I'm sorry, Lotte," He whispered, arms remaining where they were. "It has to be this way."

I was really getting sick of them saying that! _I'm sorry. I'm sorry_. _I'm sorry._ Like those two little words could undo the damage that they'd done! Like I was going to stand up and say 'sure, no sweat. All's forgiven and shit.'

Fat. Chance. Of. That.

EVER!

"You know Braxton was talking about coming up here to confront him," Aunt Karen's voice continued, so faint I barely heard it.

"I understand he was very intoxicated when he made those statements."

"He had had a few drinks."

"From my limited experience, when a man's had a few too many drinks, he tends to be a bit boastful," Jeremy said. "And then when he sobers up, he gets a little more rational. Now, the last time any of us saw Mr. Braxton was the day we found that poor dead child."

There was a pause in conversation. A long pause. So much so that both Nick and I unconsciously held our breaths, straining to hear what was happening.

"All these artifacts," Aunt Karen said, her words and tone shifting the conversation from informative to investigative in a blink. "You must have a well-used passport."

"Actually, most of them were acquired by my son," Jeremy answered easily, that same hint of pride in his voice that Aunt Karen displayed earlier. And not an ounce of defensiveness at Aunt Karen's clever hint that Clay was guilty—and a possible flight risk. "He has a doctorate in anthropology."

"Is Clayton your son by birth?"

"That's an interesting question."

"You just don't look old enough to have a son that age."

"Ah," Jeremy replied, that slight smile back in his speech. "You're trying to flatter me. I actually brought him here when he was eight."

"So now he's a professor. You must be very proud."

"I'm very proud of all of my family."

Even the kidnapping ones, I thought blackly. Nick ground his teeth behind me, shifting his body as much as he could away from mine without giving me the freedom I so wanted. Needed. Trying to be comforting in his own way. I hoped to hell he remembered that need to comfort.

Because after they killed me, and when—and I do mean **WHEN**—Aunt Karen nailed them to the wall for it, she was going to have to live for the rest of her life with the knowledge that she'd come so close to finding me alive. That she'd sat there and damn near flirted with the man that had ordered her niece captured, who would most likely be the one to take her life.

Good luck comforting that! 'I'm sorry' just wasn't going to cut it.

"Thanks for your time," I heard her say.

"I'll have Clay call as soon as he returns."

"I don't mind driving back out here to talk to him. I'd like to see the rest of the house."

"Maybe some other time, when you're not in the middle of a murder investigation."

"Yes. Thanks again."

The front door opened… and closed, sealing me to my fate. Locking me in with these monsters that wore the faces of friends. The fight left me, and I tried to curl in on myself. I was trapped here in Stonehaven now. Trapped. And after that little escape attempt, it wasn't likely that I'd get those rooms Jeremy had promised. I'd thrown that trust between us right out the window. I would be lucky if I wasn't shackled to Antonio's bedside, just enough length on the chain around my ankle to let me administer proper medical care.

Minutes ticked by. Hell, it could have been hours for all I knew, before Jeremy called out. "She's gone."

Nick slowly, carefully, untangled himself from me. I didn't move. Didn't respond when he said my name. I did roll over onto my other side when Jeremy came through the door, facing away. I didn't want to see him. Couldn't look at him. Didn't answer when he said my name, either.

I heard him cross the room and open an old trunk in the corner. Something made of fabric slid out of it, and I felt a warm blanket drape over me. Felt his hand for a moment on the back of my neck, before he and Nick walked out. Closing the door behind them.

I was faintly surprised when I _didn't_ hear a lock engage.

* * *

This was the point in time where I should have said that I lingered in my misery. That I surrendered like some moronic female lead in any drama, waiting for my counterpart to kick in the door and save me. Just me and a bed and a blanket, while listening to the quiet motions of Nick and Jeremy cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. But I didn't have a male counterpart, and this wasn't some romance movie. And the necessities of life that all those directors cut out of said movies came to visit me.

Namely, I had to use the restroom. And I was hungry. Besides, above all those selfish needs, I did have a patient to look after. Color me absolutely bat-shit insane, but I couldn't let Antonio die.

To my credit, though, I felt it necessary to state that I did linger in that bed a good two or three hours. I managed to doze off for some of that, too. Fighting for your life, followed by that much sobbing, just took it out of you. Left one killer of a headache on top of that.

All activity downstairs paused the moment my feet hit the floor. A small pause, followed by a conversation too muffled for me to make out. I did my best to ignore it, shuffling out of Elena's room and trudging up the stairs. True to Nick's word, my bags were in the recovery area, a fresh tray of food on the table to replace the one from earlier. And after checking on a sleeping Antonio, feeling that steady pulse that wasn't quite where I wanted it to be, but was slowly gaining strength, I gave into the needs of the body.

Toilet. Shower. Fresh clothes.

I almost felt human again.

My reflection and I shared that chuckle at that. I didn't look human right then to my eyes. I looked like death warmed over. Pale. Shocky. My lower face was faintly bruised from where Nick's hand had pressed against my mouth, my lower lip swollen and agitated by the manhandling of my lip ring when I'd bit him. My forearms bore the worst of the injuries, the bruises there looking like Nick had used my limbs as a punching bag. He hadn't hit me. It was all my twisting, all my fighting with him that gave me those kinds of contusions.

My hands shook as I took out my lip ring, my tongue stud. The eyebrow and nose piercings. The many, many earrings that climbed both ears. I even took out the industrial and tragus piercings. Not that I expected another chance to escape to come my way, but I wanted to be ready in any case. Piercings just gave them another way to hurt me if it came down to that. Accidentally… or otherwise. And I was over giving them that chance. I didn't have it in me to fish out the clear spacers from my bags. Whatever closed could be re-pierced.

Providing I survived. My reflection wasn't placing any bets in that category. It knew lousy odds when it saw them.

I loosely braded back my hair, not bothering to separate the multicolored strands into something unique. Tugged on a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt. No wild makeup either. I was just… me. It had been a while since I'd really looked at myself, free of the things I did to make myself different from my identical twin. With my hair back like that, you couldn't see the wild colors, and I looked normal. Mom would have said I looked 'human' again.

My reflection frowned, and winced at the pain that caused. Why was everything in my effed up brain circling back to the word "human?"

Maybe it was just ironic that I could feel human when surrounded by those that clearly weren't.

That thought made me start, my reflection staring back at me in wide-eyed amazement. My brain was just that traumatized to go there, to take Nick's previous statement about Mutts and whatever the hell else he'd said, at face value. How could I not? After feeling that strength in his arms, and all the other little inconsistencies I'd experienced in his presence, it was time to start reaching some out-of-this-world conclusions.

Okay, I thought to myself. What if they aren't human?

Then what were they?

There was an old scientific principle called Occam's Razor. It basically boiled down to this: in the absence of certainty—of heavy concrete evidence—the obvious conclusion is usually the right one. Nick had said 'human' like it wasn't his species. Nick was stronger than anyone had a right to be. Jeremy and Antonio had something dark stirring in their eyes when they were upset, and I meant more than the usual display of human emotions. Something… else… felt like it was staring at me through their eyes. And let's not forget the shadows, the shifting wolf-like shadows around them.

On that theory, and discounting all sane explanations—ever—was what I'd seen as a child accurate? Were they some kind of werewolf hybrid, men that could only turn into wolves? Or was that hulking humanoid-shaped wolf-thing pictured in every B-rated horror flick lurking beneath their skin? If they weren't human, did that mean the laws of humans didn't apply to them? Did they have their own set of laws? I mean, they'd have to if they managed to keep themselves a secret for this long—

And then it clicked.

Son of a bitch, it all made sense.

_You aren't the Big Bad Wolf_, I'd once said to Clay.

_No, I'm something far more dangerous._

I nearly fell on my face in my haste to get out of that bathroom, running to Antonio's side. I wanted a blood sample, something I could put under a microscope and prove myself wrong. People didn't turn into wolves. Shadows that moved like wolves when people were upset and winter-white eyes didn't prove a goddamn thing. I had to be going into shock, having a full on panic attack to even consider any of that. And proof that they were just a blended family of walking nutbags was absolutely what I needed to pull me out of my breakdown.

Or so I hoped.

Prayed, really.

As carefully as I could, I picked up Antonio's wrist, trying not to disturb him. There was a small cut on the inside of that arm, a defensive wound from the fight that had nearly killed him. I didn't want to break that open—

My fingers touched unblemished skin.

Whole. Unbroken. As if he hadn't had a wound there in his entire life. And just to prove I wasn't as crazy as the rest of them, I ran to the other side of the bed and picked up his other wrist. Just in case I had mistaken which one had the deep cut.

That one was perfect, too.

Antonio stirred on the bed, eyes opening slowly. "Nic…" he started to say, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. Those orbs latched onto my face, at the bruises there and the dawning expression of horror in my eyes. "Lotte… please," he whispered, trying to draw breath against the pain. "Calm down… let Jeremy… explain."

"What are you?" I whispered. "How are you healing that fast?"

"Don't… ask… that," he wheezed, attempting to push himself upright. "Your life… depends on it."

Way wrong thing to say when trying to comfort a stark-raving-mad woman.

He reached out his hand to me, imploring. "Sit… with me. Talk to me. I promise… I promise this will… be okay."

But I was already backing out the door, already heading down the stairs. I needed to see one more thing. One more piece of evidence before I surrendered the last of my sanity and just started screaming. Because this shit wasn't happening. This couldn't be real. This just… oh god, this couldn't be _happening!_

My feet hit the kitchen floor. The clean (faintly smelling of good soap and bleach) kitchen floor. Coconuts and kiwi fruit sat in piles on that table, ready for me to make the solutions I thought would be necessary to give Antonio a chance at survival. Apparently they weren't needed. I turned the corner, heading in the direction of the den. Where I could hear a conversation was taking place.

"Elena," Jeremy said, sounding a little less confident than he had earlier. A little more pained and breathy even. Which he shouldn't if he healed a fraction of the speed that Antonio did. "You were successful."

"We got lucky," she replied, kneeling down beside his chair.

"I think that we deserved a little bit of luck today, don't you?"

Her faint smile faded into a look of concern. "Jeremy…"

He picked up where her smile left off, gently squeezing her hand. "I may have lost a little bit more blood than I thought. I will be good as new in the morning."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he squeezed her hand again, and her phone rang. "Philip?"

She nodded, silencing the phone. "Now's not the time."

"Call him back. You need to assure him that you're all right. Otherwise, he may be on the next train out here to Bear Valley."

"No, I'm more worried about you right now."

"Don't be," his head lifted, eyes resting finally on me as I stood in the doorway. Not a hint of surprise there. As if he knew I'd been listening the whole time. "Call him," he said again to Elena. "I need to speak with Dr. Morgan."

Oh, it was Dr. Morgan now? As if he, too, knew my attempt to run had destroyed the trust we'd had for nearly a decade. Don't ask me why that hurt so much, hurt enough to knock a good chuck of heat out of my anger.

She followed his gaze, and the good-daughter-loving-father scene that was playing out before me shifted to the protecting-my-mob-boss in the blink of an eye. So much so that his hand in hers became restraining instead of comforting.

"Elena," he said quietly, a snap of command in that voice. "I'll be fine. Go."

She didn't say anything to me as she brushed past me. She didn't need to. The full-on malice in her eyes promised me more than death if I hurt him. Any other day, I would be the one taking the step back. The one shying away from that look and probably having nightmares about it later. I lifted both eyebrows at her instead, crossing my arms over my chest. Again, if he was half as strong as Nick, there was little I could do to him. Or rather, against him.

The bruises on my face and arms expressed that nugget of shared truth louder than her stare.

"Charlotte," Jeremy commanded, tone snapping through the air with enough force that Elena and I both jumped, ending our staring contest. "Come in. Sit, please."

Elena left, and I walked in. But I didn't sit. Even when he tried to swallow a familiar sounding sigh. Familiar, because it was filled with slight frustration, and boy, did I have a habit of causing that in anyone in a position of authority over me. Dr. Weber and Dr. Bailey made that sound so often it was nearly comforting to hear.

"You have questions," he said, taking a sip from his tea cup. Eyes never leaving mine.

"Yeah, I do," I crossed my arms over my chest. "Before I waste my breath voicing them, am I going to get answers?"

"Eventually."

"'Eventually,'" I echoed. "Well, at least that wasn't a no. Let's try something easy to answer then. Where's Nick?"

"I sent Nick on an errand."

If both of my eyebrows weren't already trying to climb into my hairline, I would have lifted them further. "You sent Nick on an errand into Bear Valley at…" I made a show of checking my watch. "At nine at night. You seem to forget that I grew up here. Most stores are closed at eight. So unless your errand involved picking up a B-and-E charge, I don't think he's going to be successful."

He gave me the 'look,' the one that said I'd just reached his limit on snarky sentences. It matched the sigh that he'd given just a minute ago. I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with him. I was learning that he, much like Karev back home, could lock you out of his head with a simple stare. Until he was willing to talk, we were pretty much finished.

I shook my head, and when that didn't seem to shake loose any answers, I flopped down on the couch next to his chair. "This is so jacked up, Jeremy."

"We were hoping to spare you," he said, sounding so tired all of a sudden.

"Spare me from the truth? That plan didn't work out very well."

He didn't even attempt a smile, or anything in the realm of the charm he successfully laid down on my Aunt. Just grimaced instead, glancing into the fire in the hearth behind him, giving me a rather lovely view of his profile.

That's how I saw it. Saw the slight muscle twitch in his cheek, the slight tremor in his hand, the way that tiny droplets of sweat peppered his forehead. Whatever part of me was still furious with him took an instant backseat to the healer within. I reached out to take his hand much like Elena had, fingers sliding past his to his wrist. Feeling for the steady thump of his pulse beneath his skin. Finding, instead, a rhythm that was slightly out of sync.

My eyes lifted, meeting his. That silvery light shown in those blue depths, capturing flickers of the firelight and transforming them into stars. Like the stars I'd seen above the wolf that night when I was nine. Oh god, it couldn't be real… could it?

"Jeremy—"

"We'll talk about this in the morning, Dr. Morgan," He withdrew his hand from mine quickly. "You'll forgive me, but I need to rest."

"You need a lot more than that," I rose to my feet. "And don't call me Dr. Morgan. After what I've done today, I'm fairly certain my license is going to be revoked, if not my freedom. They jail people for this kind of backwoods surgery. Sit down and let me look at you."

I took a step forward, and he took a step back, lifting his head in an imperious way that suggested I shouldn't press the point. Screw that. If I was going down in flames for this, I might as well go all the way. I took another step forward, and when he turned to leave the room, I stepped right in his path.

"Setting aside the fact that you're a kidnapping psycho, you were stabbed earlier today. There's a distinct possibility that a piece of the blade broke off and is still inside you."

"Unlikely," he replied, trying to step around me again. "I would know."

Oh goodie, it was another Danvers-style fake waltz. Only without the stairs this time. I got right back in his path, my anger starting to return.

"Is flawless self-diagnosis part of your superpowers, aside from supersonic healing?" I placed both hands against his chest, pushing him gently back towards his chair. Feeling him go rigid with my words. "What, you think I wouldn't notice? Antonio is awake and aware, Jeremy. Someone with an injury like his, someone without the benefit of pain relievers, should have been unconscious for nearly a day from the pain alone. But he isn't. And he nearly sat up on his own. He shouldn't have been able to do that for at least another two to three days. I'm a doctor, and a damn good one at that. I noticed."

Sorrow crept into his gaze, his hands rising to grasp my shoulders. A sorrow so heavy and so profound that it reminded me of the look on his face in that vision. The vision of me in that cage…

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the front door open and Nick walk in. There were no packages in his hands, no gallon of milk or loaf of bread that people expect when being sent out to retrieve things this late at night. Errand, my ass.

"How's your hand, Nick?" I asked, eyes still locked on Jeremy's.

"I… I'm sorry?" He took a step into the room.

"I bit you today," I said slowly, softly. "I tasted your blood, so I know there should be a perfect imprint of my teeth in your left palm. Let me see it."

He did what I knew he would, what anyone unconsciously does when you mention something that should be there when you know damn well it isn't. He flexed that hand, curling the fingers up into his palm, forming a loose fist. Which, if he was still wounded, would have broken wide the newly formed scabs. Would have hurt, too.

I didn't have to see his hand to know he'd fully healed like Antonio.

"If there was another way, understand I would have taken it," Jeremy whispered, one hand sliding down my arm and then around my waist, the other rising up, coming to rest just beneath my throat. "I am truly, utterly, and completely sorry."

Behind me, Nick cursed. "Jeremy, please tell me there's another way."

Jeremy shook his head ever so slightly, and that hand moved up, gripping my throat. "Believe me, this is a kindness."

That heat, that amazing and frightening heat, washed over me. My eyes closed of their own accord, and my power rose up to meet that heat, to embrace it like an old friend. I heard his breath catch in his throat, could imagine his eyes widening. And for once I didn't fight the coming vision. I let it flow through me, spiral out from my fingertips and into his chest.

I saw the sickness in him, the corruption thickening his blood by degrees. He was dying slowly, his life ebbing away with each beat of his heart, ticking down slowly to a painful end. And still my power roved over him, zeroing in on that source of corruption. As I had predicted, there was a piece of that blade inside him… only… it wasn't. I frowned, unconsciously pressing closer to him, hearing him gasp again as I delved deeper inside.

An impression of a blade, a ghostly echo of the weapon that had cut him, still remained in that wound. Black and tar-like, a sludge that infiltrated his bodily systems and weakened all that it touched. I wrapped my power around it and tried to pull it free. He jerked, eyes wide. Mouth open. But the blade wouldn't come loose. It was too embedded inside him, twisted smoky roots burrowing into his insides with clawed fingers.

If I pulled any harder, I would kill him.

I let go, and thank all the fates I'd pushed him back towards his chair, because his knees buckled. He sat down hard, bringing me down with him.

"What are you?" He whispered, hands grasping my face, eyes searching mine with a feverish light. "Lotte… what are you?"

"Me?" I gasped back. "What are you? This doesn't happen so often to me unless… unless you are near."

"Jeremy," Nick asked, taking my shoulders in his hands and pulling me back. "We need her. My father needs her."

"Go," he said, rubbing at his temples, shaking his head as if it was hard to focus. "Take her back to the infirmary. We'll… we'll talk again in the morning. I…"

"NO!" I screamed as Jeremy fell from his chair, tumbling to the floor.


	11. Should Would Could

"You should sleep."

Should. Would. Could.

Three words that definitely didn't apply to the equation of sleep plus me at the moment. All that equaled was a hot mess of boiling rage, divided by ice cold fear. Fear that I'd nearly died last night, that I was even now treating the man that was going to get out of that bed and finish what he started hours ago. Namely, Jeremy's hand contracting on my throat until he either suffocated the life from me or went the merciful route and just snapped my neck.

And there I was, setting up an IV rack that had seen better days before FDR was President, making certain he lived to complete that nefarious deed. The last of the sterile coconut water was in place, and I took my time inserting the needle into my assassin's arm. Or my Alpha's arm, I should say. He'd probably prefer that title to the other.

Observe my level of caring.

"Lotte," Antonio tried again, voice soft and weak. But it was steady, and would probably grow stronger as the day progressed. "It is nearly dawn. You should slee—"

I didn't bother to hide my feelings on the topic at hand, tossing a glare over my shoulder. "Funny, isn't that what you should be doing right now?"

He met my hostility with a level stare of his own, the glass of freshly squeezed kiwi juice paused in the act of heading for his lips. I suppose that look was enough to send most people that worked for him running for cover. Or at least apologizing for whatever it was that they had done wrong. For me, it was the shit-flavored frosting on my craptacular week. Therefore, it had little power over me.

"I'm worried about you," he replied after a long moment, bringing the neon-green concoction to his mouth. He winced slightly at the tart acidic flavor, but took a measured swallow anyway. "You need to keep up your strength."

"For what, exactly? You guys prefer them healthy before you kill them?"

This time the wince didn't come from the juice. It didn't come from the fact that he was nearly sitting upright—something he definitely should NOT be doing at this stage of his healing—a forest of pillows behind his head propping him up. It came from my questions. And speaking of those, was it wrong of me that I took comfort in the fact that, without the pillows, he didn't have the strength to sit up on his own? Probably. But this was the face of the woman that didn't care anymore.

Because this was the throat of the woman that remembered all too well the strength in Jeremy's hand as it started to tighten. Stars, he had really meant to kill me in that moment. Before the… whatever it was in me met the… whatever it was in him… and decided to have a party beneath our skins without our consent.

I stared down at the would-be murderer in question, taping the needle in place. Jeremy was pale, still as death. Only the slight movement of his chest let me know that he still lived. Instinct had me muttering beneath my breath about a lack of a proper vitals monitor, fingertips reaching out to find his pulse. All it took was the barest brush of contact, of the tips of my fingers against his throat to have that party start up again. Heat blasted off of him, so feral and strong that I thought it would sear my fingerprints straight off my fingers.

Cool, distant wind inside me answered that heat. Like invisible rain trying to put out a mystical fire. And like every time a cold wind hit a hot one in the sky, thunder rumbled inside my head and lightning arched between us.

His eyes rolled behind his lids, his mind fighting for consciousness, before I jerked back my fingers. Once the contact broke, he lay still again, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow the only indication that something had happened at all.

"Son of a…" I swallowed the rest of that, unconsciously rubbing my fingertips against my jeans. "Just what in the world have you done to me?"

He didn't answer of course, and for some illogical reason that just pissed me off even more.

"I will not apologize for the actions of my Alpha, Lotte."

I jumped, having forgotten he was even there for a moment. Realizing that he was answering the question I'd intended for Jeremy.

"You see, there's that word again," I sat down on the little stool between their bedsides, picking up my makeshift charts and jotting down the latest readings. "That one freaking word that has literally ripped my world apart."

"You still have yet to tell us where you heard it the first time."

Ah, here it was. That long talk that Antonio had promised me just last night (god, had only been last night that life had made sense?). I rubbed a hand over my face, fighting off the urge to scream. In fear or frustration now, I had no idea. "If that's an opening to confess all my sins, Mr. Sorrentino, you're talking to the wrong girl."

"You can still call me Antoni—"

"No," I jabbed a finger at him. "No, you stopped being 'Antonio' the moment you locked me inside that house. Antonio was a man I thought I could trust with my life. And there it is," I growled, watching his expression close down, his eyes take on the same stubborn tint that Jeremy had used last night. "There's the look I was waiting for, the one that invites me to tell you everything and get nothing in return."

"You can't know."

"Says who? This real Alpha person?"

He closed his eyes, taking long, measured breaths. As if trying to dig into a reserve of strength he didn't have any more. "Jeremy is the _real_ Alpha. You are part of this now. There's no escaping it."

I cursed beneath my breath, laying down Jeremy's 'chart' and taking the half-finished juice from Antonio's hand. "Just shut up, Mr. Sorrentino. You shouldn't be talking right now. Even with your Wolverine-style healing, you're still in critical condition."

My fingers moved up his wrist, feeling for his pulse. His fingers closed over mine, firm but not painful.

"Lotte, I need to know where you heard that term."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I tried to tug free, and wonder of all wonders, managed it. Much to his dismay. "So why bother."

"Try me."

"I dreamed it."

His nostrils flared, as if he could smell the difference between truth and lie on the air. Maybe he could. Who the hell knew anymore? "You are telling me you… dreamt it?"

"Yup," I answered without missing a beat, trying again for an accurate reading of his pulse. "I dreamt the whole thing. This Cain person, the death of Michael Braxton and how it was done. Even the news that they were planning to pin it all on Clay. I have visions that come true. Everyone in town was right about me. I'm a witch. A vision-having, pure trouble-inducing witch."

He frowned, catching my fingers once again. "I'm being serious, Lotte. Your life depends on it."

Sometimes I just hated it when I was right. He didn't believe me. At all.

"So am I," I said right back, tugging free and going for the pulse in his neck instead. "You know, for being whatever the hell you all are, you're a pretty narrow-minded, bigoted bunch. You have the healing factors of comic book characters, but have a hard time believing something else unexplainable can exist. As for my life depending on your questions? Well, your Alpha over there has pretty much decreed its forfeit anyway. Given all that info, ask yourself this: what do I have to lose in lying to you?"

It was his turn to shake his head. "Let me speak with Jeremy when he's awake. I'll… think of something."

My turn to shoot him a level look. "I thought you wouldn't apologize for the decisions of your Alpha."

"My Alpha doesn't have all the information in this case," he said bluntly, wincing slightly. "Do me a favor and don't cause any more trouble until I talk to Jeremy."

"The only talking you'll be doing is from beyond the grave if you don't shut up and rest," I said, helping to ease the pillows out from beneath him until he lay flat. "Hush, now. We're done talking. Sleep. That's an order from your doctor. And right now that outranks your Alpha."

"Lotte, please," he tried to catch my fingers with his again. "You've always been like a daughter to me since…" he trailed off, licked his lips, tried again. Switching tactics in mid-thought. "You've been like a sister to Clay and Nick. We feared that this day would come, and did everything we could to prevent it."

"I said hush. That means no talking."

His fingers finally found mine, intertwining. "Not until you promise me that you'll listen this time. Listen to Nicky, to Clay and Elena. Do what they tell you. _Promise_ me, and I promise I'll do everything I can for you."

Now why did that sound like a lawyer cautioning a client that's about to hit death row? I sighed again.

"It's not like I have a choice. Nick's right outside that door, listening to everything. Trust me, my chance at escape vanished when…" My throat went tight at the thought, nearly choking off the words. "When Aunt Karen left."

He squeezed my hand, trying to be comforting. "Promise me."

The words were forced from an unwilling throat, but I said them. If only to get him to settle down and rest. "I… promise."

As if those were magic words, he closed his eyes, asleep before I could untangle his fingers from mine.

* * *

Nick wouldn't make eye contact with me when I stepped out of the so-called infirmary. Which suited me just fine. I didn't want to look at him right then, anyway. I didn't know what I would have done if I did. Attacked him? Asked him to hold me while the last of my sanity crumbled to dust? Asked him to finish what Jeremy had started just to make this whole nightmare go away?

"You were listening," I heard myself say instead, eyes on the hardwood floor.

"Yeah," he said roughly.

"Then you know what happened between me and your Alpha. You know what your father promised me."

"Yeah," he repeated. "Just as I know what you promised him in return."

"Peachy. So we're all on the same page."

I started down the stairs, the tray containing the dishes I'd used in my hands. Nick fell into step behind me, a shadow far more dangerous than anything I could imagine. It didn't surprise me to find Clay and Elena in the kitchen, nor the fact that they leapt to their feet like… well, like any of the concerned family members I'd dealt with in my years as a surgeon. If the dark shadows under their eyes were any indication of how I looked, it was a miracle we were all upright.

"Mr. Sorrentino's on the mend," I announced, heading straight to the sink and depositing the tray. "He's by no means out of danger, but I expect him to make a full recovery _if_ he follows my instructions. Mr. Danvers is still unconscious. I have him hooked up to an IV for fluids, and will continue to monitor him throughout the night. I don't suppose I can convince you to run him to a hospital, can I?"

"Its… not an option for us," Elena said softly.

The dishes hit the belly of the sink with more force than was necessary. "Yeah, I know," I said darkly. "Everything's a big bloody secret here. And don't bother with the platitudes, okay? I don't want to know the reasons why, and the next person that tries to tell me that the secrets and imprisonment are for my own good is going to get punched in the eye."

An awkward silence fell over the kitchen, and I hit my maximum dramatic pause limit for the day. I spun around, ready to deliver a scathing tirade that would have made Maleficent proud.

And just stopped. Because for the first time since I'd stumbled into this mess, they all looked human. Human and hurting and scared, and wanting all this to be over just as much as I did.

Elena was staring down into a cup of coffee long gone cold, a single tear sliding down her face. Clay stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder, his expression that of a man trying to hold it all together and wanting so desperately to vent all his pain and frustration. Nick was a shadow on the wall by the stairs, an unwilling bodyguard whose purpose wasn't to protect me so much as it was to protect his family from me.

From what I knew at any rate.

"I feel like we failed them," Elena said softly.

"We did," Clay answered.

"They are still alive," I said.

Clay looked up, his expression twisting between gratitude and anger that I was there at all. "That's not what we meant."

"Does this face look like it gives two craps what you meant? Because if it does, let me clarify a few things. Number one, I don't care what you were referring to, Clayton Danvers. Number two, I don't care what it is you all are involved in. Number three, you are missing the point that there are two men up there still clinging to life. That isn't a failure by any count. What you are all doing right now _is_."

Oh, now that scored a point. Nothing like poking at a sore spot to get someone's complete, undivided attention. And in a rare fit of courage, I stepped forward and pressed my palms against that tabletop.

"Here's how to do not do that, okay? Sleep. Every one of you needs it. I'm fairly certain whatever else you all need to do tomorrow involves being rested to do it well. When Jer—Mr. Danvers wakes, we'll reassess his condition. Until that point, there is nothing you will accomplish by moping around her and playing the blame game. Now which one of you has my cell phone?"

"We can't let you make any calls," Clay answered.

I lifted an eyebrow. "Okay, if that's the way you want it. Keep in mind that my sister is waiting on a call from me. I didn't call her last night like I was supposed to. If I don't call her in the next five minutes, she's going to come looking for me. Based on her previous track record, where do you think she's going to run for help?"

Clay's mouth twisted a moment, but finally he nodded. "One call, and you'll do it on speaker, with us in the room."

"I gave my word to Antonio, Clay. I'm not going to shout for help and bring more trouble on your head."

He wasn't ashamed to look at me. Or more to the point, he wasn't ashamed to look pointedly at the bruises on my lower face (to match my raccoon eyes), and then glance at Nick. As if to say he knew just where my word began and ended. I wasn't going to get privacy for a good long while in his book. If, that is, I had a good long while left to live.

"Fine," I growled, holding out my hand.

It was Elena that reached into her pocket, pulling out my phone. She sat it on the table, selected my twin's number from the list, and hit speaker. If I survived this, I was so going to upgrade to an iPhone 5. The one with that little fingerprint lock on it.

"Lotte!" Char answered, sounding like she'd literally ran to the phone, like she hadn't slept at all. "Good god, Lotte, tell me you're okay."

I glanced at my three-pack of babysitters, and got a nod of approval to speak. "I'm fine, Char. I'm checking in like I promised."

"No, you promised you'd be somewhere I could find you by now. Where have you been?"

"I… I can't tell you that. I just didn't want you to worry." How lame did that sound?

"Well, you failed miserably! Mother is in fits because I canceled the wedding tomorrow—"

"Why?" I snapped. "Why would you do that?"

"Uh, because you are obviously not okay and obviously not here with me. I'm not getting married while you are in trouble."

I sat down heavily on one of the benches. "Char, you shouldn't hold up your life for me. This trouble isn't going away any time soon."

"And neither is Elijah. Or the judge, for that matter. As in, I need to know where you are in order to prove to the judge that you haven't left town."

"Fuck," I hissed softly, with meaning. I had to tell her something. And inviting her to Stonehaven was a definite no-go. A piece of paper towel was pushed into my line of sight, black lettering reading off a name. "Ravenswood," I read, glancing up at Nick and seeing his nod. "I'm at Ravenswood with Nick and Antonio."

"Hello, Charlene," Nick leaned over the phone, pumping false cheer into his tone. "I'm so sorry that this is happening, that you've canceled the wedding. Look, we've received a tip—a threat more likely—and my attorney thought it was best to keep your sister and I somewhere safe until he followed it through."

"What threat?" Char asked, voice going dangerously quiet and flat. Her lawyer voice.

"We think someone named Cain is involved in Mr. Braxon's disappearance. My car was run off the road last night. When I got out to confront the other driver, I was accosted by men in ski masks. One of them slipped up and called the other 'Cain.' My attorney is working on the issue and will be in contact within the hour."

"Ravenswood," Char echoed, and I got the impression she was writing all of this down. "I know where that is."

"I'd advise you to speak with Mr. Grant before you come out here," Nick threw in quickly. "You won't make it past the front gates without his prior permission."

"Trust me, he's my next call. Lotte, sit tight. I'll get to the bottom of this before morning. You have my word."

She hung up, and I instantly leapt to my feet. Instantly knowing where Nick was headed with this story and not liking it one bit. "You can't do this to her, too," I said, grabbing Nick's arm. "Don't you dare lock her up inside Ravenswood."

"If she shows up to Ravenswood, I may not have a choice. Stay with Elena and Clay."

"Nick—"

He rounded on me, staring hard into my eyes. "My father owes his life to you, Lotte, but he and I still follow our Alpha's will. We'll do everything in our power to keep Charlene out of this, but not at the expense of exposing ourselves to others. You'll stay here and you'll follow our directions, and you'll do it because you promised my dad that you would. Don't go back on that promise. You're going to need all the allies you can get soon."

Uh, what now? What the hell—and I do mean what the actual freaking hell—did _that_ mean?

If his goal had been to scare the anger out of me, he'd succeeded. "Where are you going?" I asked, voice coming out a touch breathy.

"He's got a car to run off the road," Elena said, slipping my phone back into her pocket. "And a trip to Ravenswood ahead of him."

Clay stepped back into the room, nodding once to a questioning look on Nick's face. I hadn't realized that he'd left the room to begin with. "Max is aware of the plan. He'll meet you at Ravenswood with a team."

"A team of what?"

"It's better you don't know," Elena answered, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. Almost comforting. Which meant I was either hallucinating the fact that Miss Hostility Incarnate had suddenly developed a heart, or I was finally on the verge of a panic attack of my own. "Come with me and I'll show you where you can rest."

"Stay here," Nick said again, fishing keys from his pocket and heading for the door. "I'm trusting you to hold to your word, Lotte. Look after my father and Jeremy. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"No," I shook my head rapidly and tried to follow Nick. "I'm going with Nick."

Oh god, Char! Why did he need a team to deal with my sister? Or was the team for the car? God, why did he and Max Grant need a team of anything at all!

Clay stepped into my path, his hands landing on my shoulders. "I can't let you do that, darling. You'll stay here. Don't try to run," he said, and I guess my face reflected the suicidal plan in my head to do just that. "Calm down and think this through."

But that was just it. I was thinking this whole thing through. I was thinking about the tingling in my fingers and the vision of Char's wedding day. It should have gone away with the news that the wedding had been canceled. I should have been jumping up and down with joy, ready to throw myself into Jeremy's hand right then and there and die happy because Char would live. But the vision was still there, an ache behind my eyes that grew stronger with each beat of my heart.

The vision had always shown her in her wedding dress. But that didn't mean it had to play out that way. Sometimes the images in the visions changed, shifted with the flow of time itself. The intent, the purpose, however. That always remained constant.

For some reason I just knew Char was wearing a long white dress today. Just as I knew the garden at Ravenswood had a lovely gazebo similar to the one in town…

I shoved against Clay's hands, got nowhere. If anything, I got treated to those hands wrapping around my waist, pulling me into a tight embrace. It wasn't a hug. Hugs were meant to be warm and reassuring. This was a grip, a firm binding that I had no chance of breaking out of.

"Don't let him kill my twin," I blurted, eyes pleading. Voice begging. "Call him, Clay. Please call him and tell him not to kill my sister. I'll do whatever you say. I'll die right here and now, but please don't let him kill her."

"Nick isn't a murderer," Elena said, stepping up beside us. "He'll do everything he can to spare her."

"I didn't lie to Antonio. I see things in visions, in dreams. They always come true. Char's in danger, Elena. We all are. Antonio was supposed to die on that road. He wasn't supposed to live. I changed that. I can change Char's fate, too. You have to let me try."

They exchanged a look, a seriously long look, before Clay slowly shook his head. "Let us try things our way first. If anything changes, Nick will call. Trust him."

There wasn't anything I could say to change their minds. I was going to stay at Stonehaven until they were done with me. No matter what. I don't recall what Elena said next, allowing Clay to escort me back up to that damned infirmary room and settle me into one of the beds.


	12. Poison

Needless to say, sleep didn't happen. Nor did rest of any kind, even with Elena playing nanny in the room with us. I tried very hard not to take her presence personally for a variety of reasons. First being that I knew they all trusted me—medically at least. She wasn't there to ensure that I kept my fingers off of her Alpha and his best friend. Nor was she there to end me if Jeremy and Antonio suddenly took a turn for the worst. I guess she was there to make certain I didn't end _myself_ by stupidly trying to climb out a window or something.

Believe it or not, that was the part I found offensive. Not her presence, nor the fact that she was yet another breathing reminder of my predicament. It was the notion that they honestly believed I was reckless enough to try and escape a third-floor room in a house that had no trellis, no gutters, and no ledges of any kind. It was almost as if Stonehaven was designed to be simultaneously impregnable and inescapable. A Fortress of Solitude to make the Man of Steel weep with envy, only it wasn't on a frozen polar cap of the planet.

No, it was right in the middle of civilization, where anyone (namely me) could wander in by accident and never leave again.

Okay, maybe it wasn't the FoS. It was more like the Bates Motel. Minus the creepy old lady. Though the verdict was still out on my chances of showering to the Psycho Theme and drying off with a kitchen knife. Somehow I got the impression that Jeremy was more refined than knifing me to death in the shower, but then again, who knew? Until about twenty hours ago, I'd thought he was just an eccentric, reclusive, rich human.

Emphasis on the human part. Sad that I now had to make that distinction.

Elena tried to engage me in conversation once or twice. We didn't get very far. Not that I hated small talk (okay, I hated it with a passion), I just didn't see the point in trying to get to know someone that may be ordered to kill me. All those TV shows and movies stated that a person's chances of surviving a kidnapping increased if you made your kidnappers see you as a human being. That meant you were supposed to engage them in conversation at every opportunity, spewing useless but humanizing factoids about yourself.

_Hi, I'm a Taurus.__I'm thirty years old.__I'm a doctor.__I love pizza.__My favorite color is green.__I hate country music and dub step isn't that far behind it in the kill-it-before-it-multiplies category, but you know, it's growing on me.__Like a fungus.__A hideous, mutant, fungus._

Okay, okay, that last part probably wouldn't have won me the Miss Congeniality award, but it was the best I could come up with given how terrified I was. Most people screamed or drank or did drugs when life got stressful. I got more sarcastic. Deal.

After snapping at her a second time, she shook her head and settled in to wait. Annoyed at me, yes. But surprisingly enough not unsympathetic. Unless she was the best liar in the world, there was a touch of compassion thawing the ice in her blue eyes as the dawn rose, the hours stretching out between us. Like she knew what it was like to be in my shoes. I shivered, trying to put that thought out of my mind. The last thing I needed to do was speculate on a future where I was doing exactly what she was doing right now.

I wasn't going to come to peace with this place. I wasn't going to agree to join the Supernatural Corleone family. I wasn't. I wasn't. I wasn't—

"It's hard at first," Elena whispered, as if reading my mind. Her eyes lingered over Antonio and Jeremy's unconscious forms. "The secrets and the lies are difficult to handle, and seem almost cruel to everyone. You get used to them over time. Once you fully understand why the law is the law, you know it's for the best."

I fought the impulse to give her a one-fingered answer, and gripped the stethoscope around my neck with both hands to keep it from happening. "I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to know anymore about this place or whatever the hell you all are, unless it is pertinent to saving lives."

"Neither did I," her eyes drifted to the bank of windows on the far wall, though I had a feeling she wasn't seeing them. She was seeing something from her own past. "I fought just like you did. Probably harder, truth be told. I didn't have anyone to protect when… when I first came here. It was just me."

I threw my hands up in the air. Peachy, now _she_ was spewing factoids as if I held the key to her future, not the other way around. "What part of 'I don't want to know' didn't you understand? The _don't_ or the _don't_? Sometimes the differences can be tricky, so if you need a road map, don't be afraid to ask."

She sent me a level look, one that reminded me of Jeremy. "You need to know."

"No, I don't."

"Charlotte, you need to understand—"

"You see, there's that other word I'm beginning to hate. That 'need' word that you all throw at me as much as 'for your safety' and 'alpha.' All I 'need' to do is get the hell out of here and pretend you all don't exist."

Wonder of all wonders, she shut up again. Lips compressed in a thin line, of course, her displeasure at my rudeness plain on her face. But she didn't press like Antonio, or urge me like Nicky. She didn't even physically try to restrain me like Clay would have, determined to wait out my stubborn flailing until I was in a better mindset to listen to him. Trust me, that event happened a lot when we were kids. In fact—

I gave myself a mental and physical shake. I really didn't need to relive childhood memories of Clayton Danvers. All that good karma he'd built with me was cashed out the moment he stood in my path when I'd tried to follow Nick.

Stars, Nick… was he okay? Was Char okay? Was _any_ of this ever going to be okay again?!

I ran my hands over my face, letting the fingers wrap around the length of my braid and tug. "This is so fucked up!" I hissed, glaring at her. "If you understand this predicament, if you've really been where I am right now, why aren't you helping me escape? Why are you putting me through what you know is a terrifying and heart-rending ordeal?"

Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears, the first real emotion I'd ever seen from the Snow Queen. "Because this is the best way to save your life."

I shook my head again, giving up and picking up the chart book and pencil. "For once, could I have a conversation with one of you that doesn't end in cryptic riddles that spell my doom?"

"My favorite flowers are lilacs."

I blinked. Okay, non-sequitur much? "Come again?"

Elena closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "I like lilacs. You?"

It took me longer than I would have liked for my brain to wrap around what she was saying. Too much bad had happened for me to switch mental gears without grinding a few. Was she for real? Did she… did she really just try to have a conversation about flowers of all things?

"Girl, you are a special kind of crazy, aren't you?"

She made a slightly vexed sound, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot impatiently. "You asked for a conversation that didn't end in riddles. I've told you my favorite flower. Your turn."

I sank down onto the stool between Antonio and Jeremy's bedsides, fighting the urge to laugh and cry all at once. This was so absurd. "Crysthanamums," I found myself saying anyway. "Followed by carnations."

"Why carnations?"

"Because they're common and overlooked and treated like they aren't real flowers. I'm a sucker for the underdog, I suppose. Carnations are the underdog of the flower family. They need love, too."

Elena smiled slightly. "I guess lilacs fit into that category, too."

"Neither of you are overlooked," Jeremy whispered, eyes slowly fluttering open. "Not in this house and not in the eyes of the world."

Elena was at his side before I registered the fact that he was speaking. Just a blink of an eye and she was there, kneeling at his bedside and taking his hand in hers. "Jeremy, thank god. We feared… you don't want to know what we feared."

He was still pale, and the breathy quality of his voice had nothing to do with a man recovering from a deep sleep. I was moving quickly, too, towards the table with the blood pressure cuff. I didn't see his smile, but judging from the subdued but utterly relieved almost-laugh that left Elena's mouth, he must have smiled. I'd seen patients and their families do that enough to know what happened just from the sounds.

Just like I knew he was trying to sit up by the sound of the blankets rustling.

"Stay," I barked, picking up what I needed and heading back to his bedside. Sure enough, Elena was trying to help him sit upright. "You're nowhere near well enough to move about on your own."

I expected a load of backtalk from him. I received a frown instead, followed by Elena lowering him back to the bed after he nodded. So much for being the authority in this room. If he'd told me to go to hell, I think she would have pitched me through those windows after all. Flower talk or not.

"I thought I collapsed from blood loss," he murmured, eyes closing again. "But a night's rest should've fixed that. There's something wrong, Elena. Very difficult to breathe."

She didn't need to send me the 'please don't let him die' look. I put the pressure cuff to his arm, the 'scope to my ears.

Elena peeked beneath the blanket at his wound. "I don't understand. You're healing normally but you're burning up."

"Your blood pressure is dangerously low," I leaned in, checked his pupillary response with a small pen light. And I knew. I knew at the same moment he knew. "Poison."

He nodded faintly. "They must've dipped the knife in a toxin."

"What do you need to do to find an antidote?" Elena asked urgently.

"It's not that simple," I said.

"Lotte's right," he said, wincing slightly, breathing becoming more labored the more he spoke. "We need to figure out what the toxin is first. The wrong course of treatment could be fatal."

That was all she needed to hear, apparently. She was up and moving as fast as she had moved to reach him in the first place. Out the door, leaving me alone to stare into the bright, feverish eyes of the man that had tried to kill me mere hours ago.

* * *

As far as awkward silences went, it could have gone worse. We stared at each other for the longest of minutes, eyes locked. His steady, faintly glassy in a way that had nothing to do with crocodile tears, and mine cycling through all the things I wanted to say and knew I couldn't for a variety of reasons. First and foremost being he was pretty much knocking on death's door, and doctors just don't scream at their patients in such situations. Secondly, it wouldn't have done any good.

Poisoned or not, the look in his eyes was as steady as a rock. And his mouth was just as firmly shut. As in apologies would start pouring from his lips the moment rocks learned to speak. Thus the staring. The quiet, meaningful, staring… until I just couldn't take it anymore.

I turned away, my intention being to close the door. Elena had left so quickly that it was wide open. Hard for people to rest if they heard half the things that everyone else said in this death trap. I turned, and felt his hand grip mine. And I braced myself for the worst, for a lightning strike or a full on Chernobyl-like meltdown when his power hit mine.

I got a whole lot of his fingers entwining with mine, tugging gently. That was it. Well, that and the usual amount of supernatural heat that poured off of him and his kind. There was no answering coolness from me this time. Nothing to indicate that a power surge was going to rip through us.

Just hands. Touching.

Seriously, we really needed to find out what sparked these storms and put an end to it. Oh, wait. Killing me would solve the problem just as easily. Faster, too, and better for everyone—except me. However, Lady Fate and I had reached an agreement long ago, that being she was going to screw me every chance she got and I was going to take it like a bitch.

Was it a bad sign that I found relief in the fact that my kidnapper/future murderer _didn't_ react to my touch in a supernatural way? I'm going to go with yes. Because that meant my life was a whole other level of screwed up.

I turned my head, staring at our hands. "What?"

"I never got to properly thank you… for saving Antonio."

I heard the words, but the light in his eyes was saying something else completely different. Something I couldn't quite define, but it wasn't the apology he was spouting. "You're welcome."

That half smile touched his lips, like he knew I wanted say other things than those two little words. "When this is over, I will thank you properly."

"When this is over, I don't expect—" To be left alive? Yeah, that was what I was going to say. I licked my lips and just shrugged. "Sure, Jeremy. When this is over. I'll hold you to that."

Jeremy shook his head, reading between the lines. His hand tightened gently around mine. "Things have changed, Charlotte. Things we need to discuss before too long. I… wanted to…" he trailed off, wincing again. And when he opened his eyes, his pupils seemed to have a hard time focusing. "I wanted to say…"

My fingertips brushed his forehead, came back slicked with sweat. "Your fever is worse. You're done talking for a bit. You need to rest, sleep if you can. I can't give you anything for the fever until Elena discovers what kind of poison we're dealing with. Sleep, and I'll try my best to keep you comfortable."

I might as well have dropped a spell on him. I don't think he heard much of anything after the 'your feve' in my statements, as his eyes closed and stayed that way. I filled up a basin with cool water, dropped a cloth into it, and dabbed at his forehead. He groaned faintly in his sleep, turning towards the cold on instinct.

"Hurry, Elena," I found myself whispering. "We're nearly out of time."

* * *

He slept fitfully as the poison did its worst, his rest interrupted more and more by periods of lucid dreaming alternating with outright hallucinations. Antonio was able to talk Jeremy back from the brink of total madness on those rare times he was awake. But he was healing from serious wounds, himself, and the brief times he managed to struggle to awareness from his own healing sleep grew farther and fewer between as the hours ticked by. Until all that stood between Jeremy and death was… me.

Little ol' me, and tiny things I could do to keep him comfortable.

The cooling effect of the towel against his forehead soothed the worst of the lucid dreams; it was the walking nightmares that were the real issues. Flailing, cursing, wishing vengeance on someone named Santos with one breath and growling incoherently at someone named Malcolm in the next. With no restraints to pin him in place, he was literally a danger to himself and the rest of us.

No amount of talking him down on my own worked in those moments. Everything was an attack, an attempt to kill him. It was when his flailing became a clawing at himself that I'd had enough. Supernatural strength or not, I wasn't about to let him tear himself to ribbons while I stood there and did nothing.

"Jeremy, stop!"

Those eyes snapped open, hit mine with a steady blow of self-righteous indignation that nearly had me stumbling back into Antonio's bed. "You have no say over this, human," he growled. "This isn't your fight."

"Nor is it yours," I snapped back, grabbing his wrist in both hands and holding tight. "You're going to kill yourself long before you can return to your little war."

Maybe grabbing his arm wasn't the brightest of moves. How many cases had I read about doctors underestimating the strength in their patients, especially those in the grips of fevers? Yeah, guess I was a statistic now.

I figured that out when he laughed, a dark cruel sound, and merely curled his arm back towards himself. Which brought me along with the ride. I crashed into the bed, well within reach of his other hand. Panic rose up to strangle me anew, fear that that hand would return to my throat, would finish what he'd started. I could talk a big talk about wanting all this crap over and done with, but the fact of the matter was that I didn't want to die. _No_ one wanted to die. And I knew I would fight him if it came down to it. I'd fight to the end.

That free hand latched onto my shoulder instead, yanking me on top of him. Until our faces were within inches of each other.

"I am your _alpha_, Lotte. Do not dictate to me."

"_You_ are a large pain in my ass, Jeremy. And I'm your _doctor_, which outranks you right now. So let go."

Sarcasm, oh, how I adore you. Masking my fear behind sharp words. Because I was afraid. I wanted to scream, to howl and beg and plead. But he was essentially a madman in that moment, a through-and-through lunatic. Even though he used my first name, I doubt he saw me. No, his mind was turned inward, seeing the face of another woman that had done him wrong, or had angered him or… or something.

God, please let it be that.

That hand on my shoulder shook, thumb hooking into the neck of my T-shirt and starting to slide it down my shoulder. The other hand gripped my side. That thumb tugged at the fabric, the cotton collar tearing free until that perfect pentagram was visible. The one burned into my flesh courtesy of Tommy Braxton's ignorance. That got Jeremy's attention, stopped whatever had entered his thoughts in mid-motion. His thumb circled it, traced it in gentle circles.

And then he growled deep in his throat, a sound no human could have ever made. A sound so primal and predatory that it froze the breath in my lungs.

"You will tell me who hurt you."

"You already know that," I managed to whisper.

"Braxton," he hissed, his finger leaving the scar, the rest of his hand slowly returning from where it came, fingers curling around the back of my neck. "I will not let this happen again."

"Sure you won't," I soothed, trying to put a smile on my lips.

Trying to show the madman before me that he was right, that the world was safe and fun and happy and he didn't need to kill me by accident because I was doing exactly what he'd said. I forced my hands to let go of his wrist, to rest lightly on his chest. He allowed it, appearing to relax but unwilling to let go of my neck just yet. Swallowing hard, I leaned down until my head rested against his shoulder, felt him sigh with relief, like his whole body had been tensed to leap if I hadn't done exactly that. That hand caressed gently, his other arm wrapping just as gently across my shoulders.

"Safe," he murmured, lips brushing my forehead as he spoke. "I will keep you safe at Stonehaven. Should have done this … long ago. Kept you here…and Elena… safe."

"I'm safe here," I agreed, trying not to move too much. Praying he wasn't going to see through the platitudes I was spilling until I could somehow get out of his embrace. "You should sleep, Jeremy. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Sleep," I urged softly, letting one hand caress his cheek. "I promise I'll be right here when you wake."

He seemed to do exactly that, drifting back to sleep. Until I stirred next to him, attempting to slide from his arms. His face turned towards mine just as I glanced up at him, and I couldn't be more honest if I had a whole stack of Bibles in one hand and a burning bush in the other, our lips met by sheer accident.

His lips touched mine. Parted. And fates help me, I felt my brain short-circuit. Every logical inch of me was screaming at how it was a really bad idea to kills my kidnapper. My body, however, had other plans. I sank into that kiss, parting for him, tasting him. He growled again, deep in his throat, and deepened the kiss.

Wrong, wrong, wrong! This was so wrong! He was sick, delusional, dying. He was my patient. He'd tried to kill me, for fuck's sake! And when his arms pulled me in closer, the last fuse in my brain blew, melted by the heat that he threw off in droves. It felt… right to kiss him. To feel the delicious weight of him shifting on that mattress, slowly and by inches positioning us until he was nearly on top of me, my arms wrapped around his neck.

"We… can't," I gasped when his lips started to travel down my neck. "Jeremy… we… we can't. You need to stay calm. We… we don't know what this poison is doing to you. You… you aren't in your right… right mind."

But oh, stars, I didn't want him to stop. I wanted to feel that heat all over me, sink into it, absorb his power into my own and share it with him until we glowed with it. And as if that thought was a light switch flicking on, it happened.

The vision.

The lightning inside.

Inky, dark, lightning striking at his will and his self-control, the poison eating at everything he was. Pain… such pain siphoning his sanity until one image emerged from the darkness. Cold, icy water of a lake I'd never seen but somehow knew as well as my own skin. Something heavy tied around our throats by a man we wanted to love us with all our little nine-year-old hearts. We begged, pleaded, as our father picked us up and tossed us into that water. And we were sinking, drowning as the rock around our necks—the rock larger than any cross-section of our tiny body—drug us deeper into the black waters.

Only to burst through the surface and into a new kind of terror altogether, no less horrible than the sensation of water filling our lungs. This time we drown on dry land, fear taking us down as surely as that rock. Drowning in fear as we ran beside our twin sister. Nine years old and running for our lives in a real enchanted forest from giant wolves, only to watch our twin slip, fall, and vanish beneath the water. Screaming for her, stopping and nearly being trampled by those larger-than-life wolves.

She couldn't die. We couldn't let her, even if it meant being eaten by the Big Bad Wolf. Or begging that wolf to save her, sacrificing ourselves for one that was everything to us.

Then we were the wolf, staring down at the child, the girl that should not be there, hearing her beg for her sister's life. A growl, a turn of the head, and Antonio knew what to do. Knew to go after the twin. The other wolf hit the water, going under… and surfacing as a man, holding the unconscious girl to his chest. And we stared at her twin beneath us, and felt her hand fall against our paw. The lightning, the storm, the arc of a power beyond our understanding burst over us. Threw us backwards and started to force us back to our human state.

Hunt her. Kill her. Oh, how we didn't want to do it. So young, around our age the first time we faced death. The parallels were too strong, too intimate, too horrific. To take the life of a child was anathema, but so many other lives were at stake, the future of our entire race in the palm of our hand. How could we not? Unless… unless… we could convince the girl that this was a dream. Watch over her all the days of her life to ensure it stayed 'just a dream.' And maybe, just maybe, she could live a normal life.

And then we stared down at ourselves as separate people once again. I was in the cage, Elena kneeling beside me. He stood at her shoulder, eyes closed in silent prayer. "Soon now," Elena was saying, voice trying to be reassuring and filled with quiet terror anyway. "Soon now. Don't fight it. Don't fight it or it will kill you. You can do this, Lotte. I promise you can do this…"

All the while silver glowed against my collarbone, the pentagram in my flesh throwing off its own light.

He broke the kiss before I could, hands cupping my face, alternating between pushing me away and pulling me in closer.

"It was real," Jeremy whispered, quiet panic in his voice. "I thought what happened downstairs in the den was a dream, but it wasn't. It was… real. Always I almost kill you, almost killed Elena. Almost failed you all."

Elena… had she done something similar to me? Found out about them by accident? It would make a sick sort of sense and put into perspective what she'd been trying to tell me. What Antonio and Nick had been trying to tell me, too.

"Jeremy, you don't know what you're saying," I whispered, voice stuttering and breathy, trying to move out from being partially beneath him. "You're sick. You need to rest."

"Clay," he said, allowing me to get to my feet. "Where is Elena?"

What did he mean by that? Clay was—

"Tracking the woman who stabbed you."

I jerked, nearly falling on my ass. I hadn't even heard Clay walk into the room. Then again, I was so shaken by all this that a nuclear blast could have gone off on the front lawn and I wouldn't have noticed.

"No," Jeremy said, shaking his head almost too rapidly. "No more secrets. You need to tell her about the first day in Stonehaven."

Clay brushed past me, a pained look on his face. "Lotte, go have a nap in Elena's room. I need to speak with Jeremy alone."

I couldn't argue with that, not with Jeremy's taste fresh on my lips and the vision clouding all my judgment. I nodded, heading quickly to the door.

"You need to tell Elena—"

"This isn't your death bed," Clay was saying, sitting on the stool. "Not yet."

"What about Cain?"

"Doesn't seem to know about the poison."

"Do what you have to do: hurt him."

I stopped listening after that, all but running from that room. I didn't stop until I'd hit the kitchen and then cursed silently. Because Elena's room was on the second floor. I'd bypassed it in my haste to get away from all that had transpired up there. The images were dancing around inside my brain, the certainty that Jeremy had been the wolf that had chased me as a child centermost in the vortex of my panic. Antonio had been the one to save my twin. And Malcolm… gods, the stories we told as children didn't even hold a candle to the horror in that man.

What kind of monster tries to drown their own child?

My ass hit the bench, my face in my hands, and I sobbed. Heaven help me, but I finally broke down and lost it. They were wolves. _Wolves_! And my twin was out there with Wolf Nick and probably Wolf Max, alone. Most likely a prisoner at Ravenswood if they hadn't killed her already, just as I was a prisoner at Stonehaven. The only difference being that they need me. They didn't have a doctor to heal them. Nick had said as much last night.

But they had a plethora of lawyers.

_Do what you have to do: hurt him._

Do what you have to… It seemed like a justification for so many horrors. Do what you have to: kidnap Lotte. Do what you have to: kidnap Char. Do what you have to: hurt him. Kill them. Ruin their lives and trap them in hell forever. All in the name of protecting their secrets…

It never dawned on me that I was alone for the first time. That I could literally get up and run out that door and there was no one to stop me. Sure, they'd find out eventually (sooner rather than later given my luck) and come after me. It would be a toss-up if I reached the main road before they noticed my absence. But it was a long, long way to the first hints of civilization. Good money said they'd find me before I'd made it a quarter of the way to town.

No, running wasn't an option. Elena was right. I had someone to live for on the outside, a twin that could be used as leverage against me if I broke my promise to Antonio. I laid my head on that table, arms wrapped around myself, and tried to stem the rising panic.

In the silence that followed, I heard the growl. The deep, hair-raising, rumbling sound close to the one Jeremy had made. Only darker, more threatening than protective, and pissed. Pure fury in that utterance, like whatever had made it was biding its time. Wiating for the perfect moment to leap and destroy its target. And it was coming from the door across from me. The one that lead to the basement.

I had one of those moments that everyone hates in a horror movie, the one where the idiot girl is alone and something bad is lurking in the basement. Any sane, rational person would grab the nearest phone and call for help, or would arm themselves and get the hell out of that place. What does said idiot do instead? She goes down the stairs—alone—and promptly gets eaten.

The only difference between me and that stupid girl? I grabbed two kitchen knives from the block on the counter before I approached that door.

Don't ask me what was going through my head right then. I don't even know. Maybe I was suffering a sort of contact poisoning from kissing Jeremy. Maybe I really had suffered a nervous breakdown and was moving on autopilot. But I opened that door and went down those stairs.

It was dark, gloomy in that massive subterranean room, the light coming from a single window at about head-height on the far wall. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, to realize that the other windows were boarded over, blocked, until the only source of light came from that one portal to the outside world. And that window gave enough light to illuminate the one thing I had hoped and prayed I would never see in real life.

My heart froze and I dropped one of my knives, my hand flying to my mouth.

There it was.

The cage.

The. Fucking. _Cage!_

The one in my vision, the one that I would be locked inside eventually. Not if. Not maybe. But truly and utterly locked inside. It pulled me forward as if I were in a trance, everything around me bathed in shadows and all but invisible. It never registered to ask why wolf-men would have a cage in their basement. It never crossed my mind, either, to check to see if someone or something was in it. It was too dark, too dim to see the lower half clearly. Just that the cage was there.

Which meant my fate was decided. There was no escaping it now.

I reached out, hand shaking… and gripped those bars.

Sharp pain was my reward, something too large to be a dog melting from those shadows and rearing its head. There was no time to react, no split-second to scream. A flash of too-white, too-sharp teeth, as they raked the knuckles of my right hand was all I knew. Internal pain answered the external, a flash of blue-white light against my shoulder and the sensation of being branded all over again was more shocking that the scrape of razor-sharp teeth. The black wolf flew back, crashing into the far wall and going utterly still. I flew backwards, too, landing awkwardly on my side.

The blade I'd still possessed cut deep into my left palm and I instantly covered the wound with my other hand, trying to stop the bleeding.

"LOTTE!" Clay screamed, flying down those stairs like a man possessed. It took him two seconds to assess the situation, and then he was kneeling beside me, gripping my arms hard enough to leave marks. "Did he bite you? Did he break the skin? Answer me! Did he bite you?"

"N-no," I said instantly. "No, he startled me. I-I fell on the knife. I…"

My teeth started to chatter uncontrollably. Clay grabbed my hands, pulling them apart. Fresh blood gushed from the left, my right covered in it. "Are you sure he didn't bite you? Lotte, this is important."

"No, he didn't. I don't think he did."

His large hand covered mine, pressing hard to try and stop the bleeding. But he didn't try to help me stand. He didn't offer to get medical supplies, either. He just stared at me. Stared as the migraine was starting to build behind my eyes. My shoulder burned continuously as fear started to collect inside my veins. Werewolves… didn't werewolves make other werewolves by biting them?

I let my gaze drift past his, locking on the motionless form in the cage. Had he broken the skin? There was so much blood, it was hard to tell. And if he had, how much time did I have left? Until the next full moon? Were they even tied to lunar cycles? Would I go mad? The way Clay kept staring at me, as if expecting… something… wasn't doing anything for my rising panic attack.

After what felt like forever, his shoulders slumped and he let out a deep sigh of relief that sounded like it came from his toes upwards. He put his hand on my shoulder, drew me forward until our foreheads touched. Whatever it was he was searching for having expired, apparently.

"Come on, darling. Let's go," he said, pulling me to my feet. "Let's get this cleaned."

I didn't have it in me to glance back at that cage. Or down at the brand on my flesh. I was afraid I would see it glowing, and then see myself in that cage. Just as I was afraid to see how much blood was from the knife wound, and how much from those teeth.


	13. Was I Changing?

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews and favorites and follows! I read them all and love all the feedback. I just wanted to drop a line to say that I'm updating as fast as I can! :) Hoping to have the next chapter out in the next day or two. 3

* * *

I sat on top of the kitchen table, trying my best not to faint. Or cry. Or scream. All those options were available to me, and all held in check by a cage of Clay's arms. He stood in front of me, hands braced on either side of the table, forehead touching mine. Like when we were kids, huddled together beneath the bleachers, hiding from an ugly truth we would have to face sooner rather than later.

Hiding from the Big Bad Wolf.

Too bad there was simply no place to hide this time. Not when the monster was inside you.

We stared down at the knuckles of my right hand, a sort of disbelief cloaking us in numbness. That wolf, the one they called Cain, had bitten me after all. The mark was so tiny, an almost minuscule tear on the first section of my middle finger. Barely more than a scrape really, and something I would have ignored or missed entirely. But it had broken the skin, the tissue around it faintly red from the one or two drops of blood that had escaped it.

Clay hadn't missed it. He'd zeroed in on it before I'd finished cleaning off the blood from my other hand. He'd seized my wrist in an instant, bringing my hand to his nose of all things. Inhaling and then cursing with the exhale. All the while my headache started to grow to impending migraine levels, and my brand felt like it was trying to burn itself through to my back.

"I don't understand," he said for the third (eighth? tenth? millionth?) time. "You should be deep into the change by now."

I swallowed hard. "Ar-are headaches p-part of it? Of the change, I mean?"

"I don't know. Normally the person in question is unconscious, or gripped in a fever."

"Oh, well, that doesn't sound foreboding at all. Way to put me at ease, there, Clay."

He didn't react to the reflexive use of sarcasm, possibly because my voice was a little high. A little wild. And there was no real sting to the words.

"Maybe you're wrong," I tried again, grasping at fleeting hope by its little toe. "Maybe he didn't get enough whatever into my system? It's such a tiny gash. It's not even a real wound. It'll be healed within hours if not a day."

"It doesn't work that way, darling. All it takes is one break of the skin."

"Would it kill you to lie to me, just once? Tell me that everything's fine and I have nothing to worry about? I mean nothing outside the fact that Nick isn't back yet and neither is Elena and Jeremy is dying and Antonio's still unconscious and either one of them could walk through that door and decide I'm not worth keeping after all and just finish what Jeremy started last night and Char may be dead and… and…," I took a deep breath, swallowing the rest of that terrified ramble. "You know, just the standard horrors that make me want to hang myself with razor wire over a vat of sharks swimming in lemon juice?"

That didn't net me a smile. Only a hug that was tight and fierce and felt strangely like he was trying to hold the life inside of me. Like if he held on long enough and tight enough this would all magically go away.

I'd be lying if I didn't say I held on just as tightly, burying my face in his shoulder and praying with all my might that he was correct. That if he held on long enough, I'd be okay. But my eyes lifted of their own accord, sought the door that lead down to the cage and a fate I just couldn't escape. I'd be in there soon. Time wasn't racing forward in regards to that anymore. It was slowly counting down, heading towards that inevitable collision of present and future.

"What do we do?" I whispered.

"Keep you here," he whispered back. "If you do change, you won't survive without the Pack. There will be things you'll need to learn, and we'll teach you. You have my promise on that."

"Great, now I know why Antonio said I'd need all the allies I could get."

His entire body went rigid for a moment. "Antonio was planning to intercede on your behalf with Jeremy."

That wasn't a question. That was a statement. And I couldn't tell if his tone of voice approved of it or not. Hell, I wasn't even certain what he meant by that. At least, not entirely.

"I… suppose?"

"Foolish move on his part," he said, stepping back but not letting go, arms loosely around my shoulders. "He was hoping that support from the rest of the Pack would sway Jeremy's decision. Enough to bend the rules and let you live."

Let me… _live_? Hearing confirmation of my impending death spoken so smoothly and calmly was like having Jeremy's hand around my throat all over again. Funny how someone stating out loud that someone else was, in fact, going to kill you for something that (mostly) wasn't your fault made it more real than the aborted attempt. So much so that I started shaking again and the tears began to fall.

Clay swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and letting it out through his mouth. "I'm going to kill him for biting you. No matter what happens, understand that he will not get away with this."

I let him pull me into another tight hug while I struggled to gain control of my emotions. "Isn't that a little extreme? I mean, he's made me like one of you so you don't have to… so Jeremy doesn't have to… you know, end me. How bad could it be?"

He didn't say anything, and somehow the silence spoke louder than words. "Clay, what aren't you telling me? What's going on?"

"Let's focus on getting you through the change, okay? The rest doesn't matter."

Oh, if that wasn't something Jeremy would have said to deflect a question, I'd eat my phone.

"Bullshit," I snapped, pushing on his chest until we resumed our previous position of just foreheads touching. "Clay, how bad is this going to get? What… what happens during the change?"

"Pain," he said quietly, tightly. "The worst pain you've ever felt. But you can't fight it, can't breathe through it. You have to let it happen and encourage it. Become one with it, or…"

And then I got it. Son of a freaking crap, I got it.

"It'll kill me," I stuttered out, shaken to my very core. "There's no guarantee that I'll come through it to the other side, is there. That's why Antonio told me I needed to sleep, to keep up my strength."

"I'll kill Cain," Clay promised, raw anger heating his tone. "For biting you, for killing Pete. For siding with the Mutts and causing this whole situation. I'll make certain he's ash for all of this."

As if promising me that the man that had murdered me would die would be any consolation to my doomed future. News flash: she who dies and is avenged… is still freaking dead!

"But I'm not dead, Clay," I urged, not sure if I was convincing him of that fact or myself anymore. "Dammit, I'm right here. Look at me. Look!" I took his face in my hands, making him look in my eyes. "I'm not dead yet… am I? Clay?"

He looked down, and when he met my gaze again, I could see him starting to mourn me already. "I'll call Nick and tell him what happened. He'll ensure Char's safe no matter what. She'll marry Elijah, and she'll live a long and happy life. She'll have everything you've always wanted for her."

I shook my head. I wasn't dead! I wasn't! "Clay, stop it! I'll survive. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. I'm used to pain. Living with my abilities is a lifetime of pain and—"

"Only one woman has ever survived being bitten, Lotte," his soft words silencing me faster than any thunderous roar could have. "Only one woman in the history of our kind."

"Elena."

He nodded, and took a deep breath. "Don't think about that right now. We're going to do everything we can to get you through this."

"I—"

"Shsssh," he hushed me suddenly, head whipping around towards the front door. "Someone's here."

Don't ask me why that was more frightening than anything else we'd discussed. It just was. The front door had my undivided attention like nothing else, my heart racing in my chest. Wondering what would come through that portal: a person or the personification of the wolf inside? Would it come leaping at my throat and consume me whole? It honestly wouldn't have surprised me.

"I take it by your reaction that it's not Nick," I whispered.

"No," He took my face in his hands, forcing me to stare into his eyes this time. "Go to Elena's room. Hide there, and don't come down no matter what. You are more vulnerable and dangerous now that you've ever been in your entire life. You could shift in an instant and you don't want to be around anyone not of the Pack when that happens. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I managed to say after two attempts. "Okay."

"Go. Now."

He let go, and I all but ran for the stairs. I didn't stop when I heard Aunt Karen's voice, the suspicion in her words as she all but accused Clay of being her star suspect in Braxton's disappearance. I didn't slow until I was in Elena's room, hands pressed to my mouth to stop the shivering, fear-induced screams that wanted desperately to climb up my soul and exit through my lips. When Clay left with her, having no choice but to go in for questioning, I fell to my knees and threw up everything I'd ever eaten.

* * *

My head felt like it was made of flames, of fire and air. As if my head was trying to compete with the burning pain of that damned branded pentagram. It was like the change, or whatever becoming a werewolf was called, had waited until Clay left. Almost like it was afraid of a bigger, badder wolf. Now that the threat was gone? My inner demon seemed to pick up the pace in order to make up for lost time.

I had no idea how long I'd knelt there over my mess, dry-heaving. All I knew was that it hurt to even inhale, the simple act of expanding my lungs so jarring to my aching head that I seriously considered giving up my oxygen addiction. Unfortunately the medulla oblongata, the part of my brain that automatically controls such things like breathing and heartbeat, disagreed with that plan.

Like a crack addict nowhere near recovery, that selfish bastard kept on drawing in long pulls of air, which made my heartbeat quicken, which in turn made my head ache even more. My stomach, not to be left out of the how-many-body-systems-will-turn-against-me-today game, jumped right on that bandwagon and kept up with the heaving. Which required more air, and more heartbeats, and… you get the picture. It was the worst agony I had ever experienced, and it showed no signs of letting up.

The worst part of the worst? It was my vision. I was a surgeon, and I prided myself on my hands and my sight. The latter were shaking so hard, fingers flexing and moving against my will. The former was… I don't know how to describe it. Like looking thorough the world with a narrow focus amplified by my growing sense of smell. The mess beneath me showed up in its own wavy contour, like gasoline fumes dancing in the air.

Like I could suddenly _SEE _smells.

I was hallucinating. I had to be. Or feverish. Or… or…

My heart stopped, literally stopped for a good long minute, as a horrible thought overtook me.

Was I… changing?

Alone?

Oh, God.

Oh, God. Oh God. OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod…

I screamed, the sound coming out strangled, barely a whimper. I just couldn't get enough air down my throat for a proper scream. Couldn't focus enough through the pain to produce any real sound at all. I never believed, in all my years of medicine, that someone could literally hurt so bad that they forgot how to scream. That someone could feel so much agony that even reflexive motions like screaming were just gone.

Trying to get to my feet, to slam my hands against the walls or reach a cell phone or… or anything to call for help was also a no-go. I barely got my feet under me before I was on my side on the floor, body contorting as muscles flexed all on their own. Convulsing, and doing my best fish out of water impersonation. Drowning, I was drowning in a sea of black pain. Jeremy had done it. Char had done it. I suppose this time it was my turn to go under and never come back up.

My sight gave out. My hearing vanished. There was nothing but the liquid torment in my veins, in my soul. And I saw again that cage, that lying, ugly cage in the basement. I would die before I reached it. Swallow my tongue in the seizures, or asphyxiate on my own vomit or, or something. But the vision wouldn't go away, nor the bright blue-white glow leaping off of my shoulder.

It was so cold now, believe it or not. That brand like dry ice instead of fire, battling with the wolf inside me as my power had done when it had touched Jeremy's. I clung with all my will to that glow, throwing myself into the vision instead of pulling back like before.

I saw Char in the living room at Ravenswood, her face tear-streaked and red with fury. She sat on one of the expensive overstuffed leather chairs, glaring hatred. Glaring because her hands were bound to the arms of that chair, her ankles tied, too. Around her forehead was a circle of white gauze, like a mock-veil of all things, sprinkled here and there with little pinpricks of red blood. Shattered glass was all that was left of those magnificent French doors that lead to that garden, a bar stool on its side next to the pool let me know how those doors met their end.

In the kitchen, Nick did his best to wrap a tight bandage around Maximillian Grant's lower arm. The man in question glared at Char, and she lifted her head in the most beautifully defiant expression of Fuck Off I had ever seen. I didn't need to ask any questions. I knew they'd told Char she'd have to stay at Ravenswood. Her answer had been predictable—to those that knew her. My money was on the notion that she'd calmly picked up the nearest barstool and tried to make her own exit.

She'd run, my wonderful twin. She'd made it out to the patio and nearly to the tree line. Pushing through shattered glass and fighting for each step she took. The fact that there was no escape from that place wouldn't have mattered to her. She'd have run anyway, if only to prove a point. If only to die on her feet, rather than as a prisoner.

Given the state of Max's arm, he was the one that had to catch her after she made a mad dash out the 'new door.' Given the gashes on Nick's cheek and hands, he'd helped haul the hell cat pretending to be my twin back inside.

Nick shook his head, but kept wrapping Max's arm. Trying, I noted, not to grin. Not to show approval at Char's utter defiance.

My last thought before I surfaced from the vision and delved back into the pain was, believe it or not, joy. Because there was blood on Char's wedding day. Blood on her white dress. Blood of a Sorrentino (and a Grant) on that gazebo. And no one had died… except probably me in the next few minutes.

Another prophecy fulfilled today.

At some point in my deluded agony, I'd actually convinced myself that I needed morphine. Morphine would cure everything. I'd seen it in the medical supplies when trying to save Antonio. Just a little shot and all that pain would melt away. Of course, that would require me to actually find said miracle fluid and load a syringe without injecting half a cc worth of air into my bloodstream. Now that would end the pain pretty rapidly, and also that pesky little problem called 'living.'

First, that required me to get to my feet and down the stairs. With the world spinning, and my vision going double, I doubted I'd take the stairs without falling. See my previous statement about not being too keen on the prospect of dying. But it was either the stairs or throw myself out the window to reach the ground level.

And before you ask, yes. Yes, I considered leaping out the window. A swan-dive onto the paving stones sounded like a mercy more than anything insane. It was only one or two stories down, and would knock my ass unconscious as surely as the morphine. I could survive that, right? Possibly? Maybe?

God, how did anyone survive _this_?

_Clay, why did you leave?__Why did you LEAVE ME?!_

Another spasm of pain hit, and I went fetal. Rolling back and forth with arms wrapped around my knees, trying to do as Clay had done. Trying to hold myself together, and knowing that I was failing.

I couldn't do this alone. I couldn't do this at all! And it wasn't supposed to happen like this! I was supposed to be in that cage, surrounded by Jeremy and Elena. I was supposed to have comfort and guidance and prayers. Jeremy wasn't supposed to be dying, and Elena out there hunting for a cure almost blindly—

My spine cracked.

Not like I had turned my torso too quickly and felt that near cathartic _snap-pop_ of ecstasy as vertebrae aligned. No, it literally _cracked_ and… and elongated, pushing upwards against the cage of my flesh. I screamed, the declaration of my torment coming out in a grunt, a half swallowed/half growled moan that didn't carry very far. Because my mouth was full of teeth. Sharp teeth. Too many teeth in patterns that were never meant for a human jaw to hold.

Morphine. God, I needed morphine. I needed to make this stop!

BONES DIDN'T REALIGN THEMSELVES! THEY WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO MOVE BENEATH THE SKIN OR GROW SHORTER OR LONGER! MUSCLE COULDN'T RESHAPE ITSELF AND TENDONS DIDN'T SUDDENLY DECIDE THEY DIDN'T WANT TO ATTACH AT ONE POINT SO THEY MOVED TO ANOTHER!

_NO!_

_NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO __**NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!**_

I found the door by some twist of fate, my legs and arms feeling like they were made of rubber. Old rubber stretched too thin, ready to snap at the slightest instant. My skin was likewise tight, too tight to contain the all of me inside. Which felt like it was growing, multiplying. Filling up my flesh to bursting. I could feel the wolf inside, claws tentatively raking at the inside of my body, probing for an exit.

I fell twice, always catching myself a few steps later before taking said swan-dive to the kitchen floor instead. Huddled there on the landing as another wave of hell shook the foundations of my soul.

"Lotte?"

My head snapped up at the sound of my name. At least I hoped it did. It was hard to tell. Trying to lift it up felt like it literally blew off the base of my neck and exploded like a firework. "E…Elen…a?"

"Oh, my god, where's Clay?! Tell me he didn't!" she snarled, racing up the steps and catching me before I took that swan dive for reals. "Tell me Clay didn't bite you, too!"

Her hand landed on my shoulder, closing over the brand. And everything stopped.

The pain. The shifting. The stretching of things beneath the skin all started to recede. Even the burning of the brand cooled itself. I gasped, the pain flying away, my skull emptying of the rocks that had packed it. The change before had been so unbearable, and yet the sudden evacuation of that pain was a hurt all of its own. It left me gasping, screaming, nearly blacking out, unable to hear half of what Elena was saying. But that was okay, because she's stopped talking to me.

She was talking to Antonio. Who also had a hand on my other shoulder from behind.

"Oh, god, don't let go of me!" I wailed when I found my voice again, clamping a death grip on her hand and on his. "Don't let go! Neither of you let go!"

"I… I heard someone changing," Antonio gasped, leaning against the wall to keep upright. "I thought… maybe it was you, Elena, or Clay. Figured there was… trouble… and I should help. Didn't anticipate… this. Lotte, who bit you?"

"Doesn't matter," I gasped right back, fresh tears springing from my eyes. "It stopped. God in heaven, it stopped."

"It shouldn't have," Elena frowned, glancing up at Antonio. "This is your first change. It doesn't work like this."

"I don't care," I shook my head, choking back a sob. "It stopped. That's all that matters."

They exchanged another look, neither happy with the situation. But likewise, neither knowing what to do about it.

"It's stopped for now," she said, rising to her feet. "I don't know why or how, and frankly we don't have time to worry about it. I know what the Mutts used to poison Jeremy."

I blinked up at her, leaning against Antonio's legs, fighting the need to wrap my arms around them and never let go. "Tell me."

"Ricen."

"Blood transfusion," I said, pushing unsteadily to my feet. "We need to start one right aw—"

The moment Antonio's hand left my shoulder, I was back down on the stairs, everything that had stopped shifting inside picking up where it had left off. Including the brand on my collarbone. Most especially that damned brand.

"Did you see that?" Elena gasped.

"It's glowing, "Antonio followed up, and reached out to touch me again.

One fingertip on my skin, on the center of my brand, and the pain vanished. The physical pain, I should say, because the emotional impact of what was happening? Oh, that was going to take a couple decades to overcome at this point. The change hadn't stopped, as was evidenced by the touch/no touch experiment we'd just performed. I was still going to have to go through the whole painful procedure. Yet for some reason, the touch of any member of the Pack put the shift on pause.

Which explained why I hadn't shifted the moment I was bitten. Clay had been touching me, and my power had been running like a freight train in the red.

"Lotte, forgive me for saying this, but Jeremy doesn't have time to waste," Elena said, gripping my arm and pulling me to my feet. "First, we have to save him. Then we'll figure out what is going on with you. You said he needed a transfusion, right? Tell me what to do…"

* * *

Hours later, I found myself seated on the floor next to Jeremy, his left hand resting lightly on my shoulder. The transfusion had worked like a charm, Elena's blood being a match to his, and Jeremy had rebounded from the poisoning faster than anyone I had ever seen. So much so that he was adamant that bed rest wasn't needed anymore. Especially after I'd told him what had happened to me.

Don't look at me like that. I hadn't wanted to tell him. At least, not until he was fully recovered. However, it was hard to act like Antonio's death grip on my hand was all natural, you know? And there were only so many excuses I could find to keep my hands on Elena. Espeically since both she and I were known for not being into the whole touchy-feeling thing all the time. Let's not forget the fact that Jeremy was viciously intelligent.

And I was a crappy liar. He got the truth before any of us could come up with a convincing lie.

To say Jeremy wans't happy was an understatement. That man was downright pissed. To his credit, he didn't yell. He didn't bluster or threaten or call me a complete idiot (which I deserved). He'd just gotten this look on his face that all fathers must automatically inherit when they claim an offspring as their own. This look of strained, annoyed, frustrated patience.

His eyes, however… oh, those raged like nothing I had ever seen before. There was nothing he could do to hide those. If winter skies could be so cold the clouds boiled, that would have been how I described his eyes. The depths of grey-white rage personified.

The moment he was well enough to sit up on his own, to stand on his own, really, he'd relocated the whole lot of us downstairs to the den. No one argued this time, not even me. That's how Nick found us. With Jeremy reclining on the couch, a cup of tea in one hand and his other on my shoulder. Elena leaning against the desk, arms crossed over her chest. Antonio in Jeremy's usual chair, still as white as a sheet but his eyes were no longer glassy. No longer on the verge of death.

He'd live. He'd make a full recovery, if given the time.

In his case, probably another 48 hours and he'd be fighting me for the right to get out of bed, too. I'm telling you, if what made werewolves into werewolves wasn't so damn deadly, I'd bottle it and give it to all my patients. Recovery times like this were almost worth the risk.

Almost.

Oh, look. My sarcasm was coming back. Apparently Jeremy and Antonio weren't the only fast healers in the room.

Nick took one look at his father—his living, breathing, no longer dying father—and his legs nearly gave out. Relief was so thick in the room that I could taste it, like cotton candy on my tongue. That thought made my eyes widen, and I took a generous swallow of my own tea, trying to convince myself that I hadn't just tasted someone's emotions and compared them to a childhood flavor.

He crossed the room, kneeling before his father and taking his hand in his. "Dad…"

"I'm okay, Nicky," Antonio smiled. "I'm okay, thanks to your quick thinking and our good doctor. Both Jeremy and I will live another day."

I looked down, fighting off the elation that they would live and the mingled reality of just what their lives had cost me. Jeremy squeezed my shoulder, a motion that was supposed to be comforting. And this time it was… sort of. Enough that I turned my face into his arm, closing my eyes, trying to take solace in something. Anything. He squeezed my shoulder again.

"You're both looking better," Nick said, rising to his feet and leaning against the back of Antonio's chair.

Jeremy nodded. "Were you able to reach Logan?"

"I texted him a few times. I didn't hear back. But I can see he's picking them up."

"You need to find out what's going on with him," Jeremy sipped his tea. And paused, lifting an eyebrow at Nick, at the other man's sudden hesitant expression. "What? I want your opinion."

When I fidgeted this time, I wasn't looking for comfort. More like looking for a way out. This was some of that before mentioned Pack business, obviously. And judging by the way Nick flicked a glance in my direction, I clearly wasn't Pack. I made a motion to get up, and this time when Jeremy squeezed my shoulder, it wasn't reassuring. It was more of the sit-your-butt-down-and-stay-silent-I'm-so-not-done-with-you-you-leave-when-I-tell-you-to-leave variety.

I got with the program and tried to remain very still on the floor.

"Nick," Jeremy prompted.

"This sort of thing is normally Dad's responsibility."

"Things have changed," Jeremy answered. "We've lost a member of this Pack, and we've lost friends. When Antonio's recovered, I'll have other tasks for him. No less important than what he's done in the past. Probably more so."

"I'm never going to fill my father's shoes. I won't even try."

Jeremy gave a lopsided smile. "I'd never ask you to, Nick. I want you to do this your way. Go on and give me your opinion."

Nick took a deep breath, and when he let it out all hesitation was gone. "Logan knows his place. We'll hear from him. Right now we need to focus on finding Marsten, Santos, LeBlanc, and anyone else in league with them. I will kill them myself with pleasure."

"Update me on Charlene Morgan."

Again there was that warning squeeze, and I shut my eyes.

"Safe," Nick answered not a heartbeat later. "She's with Max at Ravenswood. There was an incident with an escape attempt, though Max believes he has everything under control for now. Do I get to ask now?"

I knew he was referring to my presence at this meeting. I didn't have to look up to see his eyes on me. I could feel them.

"There's a long story involved," Jeremy said, glancing down at me. "The short of it is fairly obvious. Lotte has been bitten."

Nick swore. "Who?"

"Cain."

I heard his jaw drop, the snap of his teeth when he picked it up off the proverbial floor, and the silence when it fell open again. "And just where was Clay when that happened?"

"Out with Sheriff Morgan," Elena answered, staring at the floor. "This wasn't his fault, or mine."

"It was mine," I surprised myself by saying. "I went where I wasn't supposed to, and I'm sorry."

I peeked beneath my eyelashes, saw Nick running a hand over his face, trying to stay calm. "Okay," he nodded, swallowing his anger. "It's obvious you survived. That's good. That's… that's great. I…" He trailed off as he realized no one was celebrating, and his eyes locked with Jeremy's. "What's the rest of the story? What's happened?"

Clay took that moment to join us, and the stench of fresh blood on him was enough to have me jump. Enough that for a moment Jeremy's hand lost contact with my shoulder, and I nearly screamed. His hand landed on the back of my neck with enough force to nearly knock me flat, but those fingers dug in, those strong amazing fingers, and all that pain went away again. I'd be bruised to hell and back tomorrow, but at least I wasn't changing there on his living room floor.

"Sorry," I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut again.

"Forgiven," He murmured back. "Focus, if you will. We have much more to get through before the night's over."

I nodded, and set aside my tea, wrapping both hands around his wrist, just to be on the safe side.

In my near slip, I missed the way Nick all but charged into the center of the room, meeting Clay half-way. "Cain?" he asked.

"He's done," Clay said, and looked at me for a good long while.

"Good," Nick said, hints of disappointment in his voice. Like he'd wanted to follow through on his promise to cheerfully end anyone that threatened his family. "I'll help you with the body."

"It's my responsibility," Clay interjected. "I'll deal with it. We have another problem. Santos hired Jimmy Koenig. He's coming for us."

Nick and Antonio cursed together, using the same words.

"Koenig," Elena frowned. "Why do I know that name?"

"He was the pack enforcer, long before I became Alpha," Jeremy said.

"You know all those files about dead mutts down there?" Nick added. "Koenig is responsible for most of them. Dad used to call him the killing machine."

"Koenig," I echoed, drawing every eye in the room on me.

And that vision of Elena being shot rose up to my eyes. Rose up with the cool power and seemed to dance up Jeremy's arm, too. And I just knew he saw what I saw. I glanced up at him, found him staring down at me, the winter white dancing in his eyes again.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again.

"This isn't your fault, not this time."

"Jeremy, I—"

He shook his head, and I shut the freak up. See, I was a fast learner after all.

"Clay, go deal with Cain's body. Nick, I want you to clean and sanitize that cage. Elena, you help him. Planning for Koenig will wait for the morning. Tonight, we have more important matters."

Like putting me in that cage, and letting the change rip through me…


	14. One Heartbeat

The cage.

It was all I could think about in the silence that followed everyone's departure. It wasn't a matter of months away, or days at this point. It was hours. Minutes. Seconds from becoming reality. And there I sat on the floor, alone with the two men that had the most insight on what was about to happen, and I couldn't get my brain to engage enough to ask. Funny, they weren't in a mood to volunteer, either. We sat in silence while everyone else made like the Seven Dwarfs and Hi Ho'ed it to work.

It wasn't awkward, that silence. It could have been. It could have been filled with meaningful looks, and not the good ones. I was half expecting Jeremy to follow through with the 'not done with you' portion of the night. No doubt there was a rant or a lecture building up inside of him, waiting to bubble to the surface of all his insufferable calm. Each time he sipped his tea, I expected him to follow up with how disappointed he was in me.

He kept his silence.

So did Antonio. Though he got a pass on reading me the riot act for breaking my promise. He looked as if he was having trouble remaining upright, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from the effort. Twice now I opened my mouth, wanting to order him back to bed, but something kept my tongue in neutral. Something that warned me that this was a vigil of sorts for him. Sending him away would be an insult, even if it was meant to spare him pain.

So… the silence.

And the inevitable countdown to my cage match. Only instead of some spandex wearing show-dude, I'd be wrestling with myself. The pain would be real. Death would be real. And no McManus in the world would be able to tap me out when things got deadly. It wasn't like I could spend the rest of my life with Jeremy's hand dangling off my shoulder. But don't think for one second that I hadn't considered that as a viable option. That's what fear does to you, folks. It makes you crazy.

"We're ready."

Clay's voice came out of nowhere, the solemnity of its tone more frightening than anything to date, and I jumped. Because now it was going to happen. Now I was going to be taken to the cage, and possibly to my death. Nothing in my visions had ever told me that I would make it out of that cage again—just that I would spend time in it. Suffering. Suffering horrifically.

Thankfully Jeremy was ready this time when I jumped, his palm pressing into my shoulder before I could accidentally wiggle free. "Okay," he said. "Come and help me, please."

Translation: Come and take control of Lotte so I can get off the couch.

Clay reached out a hand to me, and I took it, letting him draw me to my feet. He pulled me to the side, an arm around my waist, while Jeremy took his time getting to his feet. The doctor part of my brain started in with the stern warnings that neither Jeremy nor Antonio should be out of bed at this point. They should be resting, if not sleeping, all snuggled into their beds watching soul-crushing sitcoms or something.

Instead, Jeremy was helping Antonio to stand, the two nearly leaning against each other as they walked past us. Clay steered me in step behind them, and Elena and Nick took up the rear as we walked into the kitchen… and down the basement stairs. No one started in with the fake sentiments, which I appreciated. No "you can do this" or "you'll be fine" or even the "if you want to survive, do this." No one was much in the mood to lie, I guess, and even my usual sarcasm had buried its head in the sands of disbelief, praying that this was all some kind of joke.

That I'd get down those stairs and walk into festive streamers and cake and punch, a big banner saying "SURPRISE" descending over the cage. Like I'd just passed some sort of weird sorority initiation, or some test to join a Super Secret Society. Well, if I survived my cage match with myself, that last part would technically be true. I'd be part of them then, part of the secrets that caused all of Bear Valley to whisper.

The Order of the Stonehaven. The Danvers-Sorrentino Knighthood. Or… or something.

We reached the base of the stairs, and all my thoughts on secrets and my future died mid-stream. There was only the tepid light of a single bulb to illuminate the way to the cage, the sun having long set on my last day as a human. In a few steps, just a handful of footfalls, I was going to meet my fate.

I won't lie and say I went into that cage without hesitation, with my head held high, and determined to meet my destiny with grace and dignity. My steps slowed and faltered the closer we got, and only Clay's arm around me kept me in formation with the others. Stars, he was so strong. Would I be that strong if I survived? Would my skin burn so hot, too?

I bit my tongue when our feet hit that unfinished cement floor, holding back all the little excuses that instantly sprang to mind. They wouldn't have helped, and would have only delayed the inevitable. The strength in Clay's grip was more than enough certainty that I was going into that cage whether I wanted to or not. Fighting would just leave me tired and hurting when I went in, and Antonio had said before that I needed my strength.

Nick and Elena moved ahead of our procession, pulling two chairs out of a shadowy corner and placing them before the cage. Jeremy helped Antonio into one, and then took the second one, himself. He nodded once. Elena took the lock—Jesus, that padlock looked like it could keep a charging rhino from breaking through!—off the cage door, and Nick opened it.

Inside was a single steel-framed bed, complete with pillow and blanket. I blinked. Blinked again. Was it really going to take that long? Long enough that I'd need to sleep? To spend days here? In a _cage?_That couldn't be right… could it? They wouldn't leave me here in a freaking cage while I suffered…

… but then I remembered the pain. And the fact that no one was offering helpful suggestions.

God, it really _could_ take that long. In agony for days… with no hope of surviving. I glanced over my shoulder at Jeremy and Antonio, at their stolid expressions. Then and Nick and Elena, who were doing their best to mimic the others. And realized that they weren't escorting me so much as friends, but more like the pallbearers at my funeral.

With Clay's arm around me serving as my coffin.

Clay moved me forward, and I couldn't stop the way my hands latched onto his arm. Couldn't stop the tremble that seemed to shake my whole body. It didn't slow him in the slightest, and I didn't have the heart to look up and see if his expression was just as stony as the others. He wasn't Clay in that moment, wasn't the man that had grown from the boy that was like my brother. He was the… enforcer?... of Jeremy's will. And Jeremy wasn't Jeremy, but was my Alpha.

My alpha… sitting vigil for what would surely be my death.

After all, they had their special snowflake, their unique she-wolf that had broken all the rules and survived the change. Honestly, what were my chances of lightning striking twice in the same spot? Next to none, that's what.

Clay walked me into the cage, pulling me to a halt just within the door. Just far enough in that he could snake one arm through the bars of the door as it closed and touch me, while letting go with the other. I stood with my back to them all, staring down at the blurry floor. Oh, wait, it wasn't blurry. It was my eyes. I was crying. Like a fucking pansy.

I heard someone take a breath, opening a mouth to say something and I just couldn't let myself listen to what it was. Not if I wanted to salvage some kind of dignity. If that was even possible anymore.

I spoke before anyone else could. "Thank you," I surprised myself in saying, surprised even further that the whispery tone of my voice didn't waver with the tears. "Thank you—all of you—for at least trying to save me. Tell Char that I love her, and will always watch over her. She won't… she won't understand right away, and maybe not ever, but she needs to know."

I stepped forward before anyone could say anything, breaking the physical contact with Clay, and gave over to my fate.

* * *

I plunged beneath the agony, torment rising up around me and slamming down like waves in a dark ocean. I wanted to say that I was prepared this time, having had a preview of this coming attraction. That would be a lie. No one can ever be prepared for that kind of pain, nor can they stop the need to fight back against it. It was just a biological fact of life: if something was hurting you, you did your best to get away from it or you attacked it head-on.

It was called the fight/flight response. So how was I supposed to tell my body not to do the only two things available to it, the two things programmed into it from the moment of conception?

I had no idea, either.

So I just sank into the muck of suffering, breathing in fire and exhaling terror. I never felt it when my hands and knees hit the floor, didn't know if I was screaming or screaming silently, or just kneeling there waiting for my heart to explode. There was nothing but the pain, the sick feeling of claws raking down my insides, of bones breaking and reshaping, of my soul reforging itself.

Despite my best efforts, I tried to rationalize my way through the change. Tried to accept the pain, and make myself okay with the fact my body was becoming something altogether alien, if not completely unnatural. Those wrong teeth filled my mouth almost instantly, and my hands, my talented surgical hands, start to morph. Vision went next, fluctuating in and out as if someone had replaced my irises with a fish-eye camera lens.

And right on schedule came the _pop-snap-twist_ of my spine, my ribs cracking and elongating, twisting my chest completely out of shape.

This was all anticipated; all something I had felt the first time I started to change. It didn't make it any easier, mind you. And god, did it hurt somehow worse than I remembered. The shaking came and then turned into convulsions. My vision vanished, my hearing gone next, leaving me in blackness and silence and pain.

Leaving me alone with my wolf.

I saw her in the darkness, a sleek flash of white against all that black. She was small for a wolf, not nearly as big as I remembered Antonio and Jeremy as being. Small, but powerfully built, covered in pure white fur. Sleek, with delicate limbs made for agility and grace and speed. She had my eyes, though. My dark, nearly black eyes. And within them burned a fire-like intelligence no human should have ever seen. In fact, she bared her teeth at me, snarling that I was even there to begin with.

And suddenly I knew. I knew just why people didn't always survive the Bite. If I had been born to this, prepared from birth, I would have had insight into the wolf in me. She wouldn't have been alien, and parts of my brain that were at this very moment damn near gibbering with madness at the thought of becoming a wolf, would have been accepting of her. But they weren't, and god was she pissed about it, her displeasure echoing in the twisting of my body, the agony of every heartbeat.

She was just as much a part of me as I was now. And she'd be damned if she had to live every second of her life suppressed behind human eyes. Death was preferable to a cage of weak human flesh. She'd kill me—kill _us_—rather than suffer that fate forever.

The moment I had that realization was the moment she grew tired of waiting. She leapt, fangs bared, claws at the ready to rip our body to ribbons.

I screamed, threw up my arms to try and shield myself.

She battered through my pathetic defenses, fangs latching onto my throat, tearing into the vital arteries. Blood sprayed her white muzzle, staining it with our life-force. Her tongue lapped the blood, the sweet, hot, brandy savored. It was the taste of victory, of supremacy, of freedom. I tasted my pulse on my tongue, counting down the handful of seconds I had left to live. The handful of heartbeats as my blood poured across the landscape.

_One heartbeat._

And I couldn't help but think that Jeremy should have done this last night, only with his hand instead of fang. He should have finished what he'd started and spared me this whole nightmare. A mercy, he had called it, and he had been so right. I wasn't supposed to surrender to the pain, nor was I supposed to fight it. Clay had said as much. Yet my body was now locked in a state of terminal confusion with no way to help itself. Except…

_One heartbeat._

I did the only thing I could do, the only thing that memory pulled forth from the depths of my past. I fell backward again, splashing through a barrier of blue-white light, delving into that time when I was a child and Wolf-Jeremy stood over me. Into the memory of when my power first made its appearance. One hand fell to touch the paw of his wolf. The other hand rose, pleading. I was so weak now, so much blood lost. Dying.

_One heartbeat._

Dying as surely as Charlene had been dying, as Jeremy had been dying, when they'd both slipped beneath the black waters as children.

_One heartbeat._

Dying…

_One heartbeat._

I was back to being that little nine-year-old girl. Lying on the cold ground of Stonehaven, stars glittering above me, and cool wind blowing across my soul. No, not blowing across it, but coming _from_ it. From the power inside me, and glowing through the pentagram in my flesh. Over to my right, I saw Char slip and fall, disappearing in that pond. And following that, I saw a man tying a rock to his son's neck, and throwing him in after her.

Dying. They were dying, too. Somehow, some way, they were both still in that pond. They were both drowning on dry land, taking decades to go instead of mere minutes.

_One heartbeat._

Char… Jeremy…

_One heartbeat._

Dying…

_One heartbeat._

I couldn't let that happen.

Above me loomed a wolf—my wolf—blazing as bright as any star in the moonlight. My hand touched its paw instead, my other reaching feebly for her nose. "Please," I whispered. "Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry I was afraid. Please help me. Help me save them. Char and Jeremy are still drowning. They never stopped. Please, save them. Save me… Save _us_."

My heart beat its last, and my hand fell onto that satin nose. And everything was flooded with blue-white light.

* * *

Something was wrong.

Something other than the fact that I was still in agony, and still screaming so loud and long that I hadn't finished with the last scream before I had to draw breath to take in the next. No, this was wrong because I was naked now, and light leaked in through the window high above. Light that felt more like the fading of afternoon than the rising of a sun. That, and I was somehow on the bed in that cage, the blanket thrown across me.

I didn't stay that way for long. Another part of my body broke and reshaped itself, and I went fetal with the pain.

The scrape of metal against concrete interrupted my howling, and I forced open eyes gummy with dried tears. A single metal cup, like something from a camping kit, had been pushed through the opening on the bottom of that door.

"Drink this, if you can," Jeremy said quietly. "Your body will need it."

I couldn't see him, my vision doing things I couldn't even put into words. But I could smell him, knew precisely where he was standing by his scent. Warm, he smelled so warm, like fire and safety and a spice uniquely his own. I wanted to roll around in that scent, cover myself with it, bind my wounds with it. Safety… and warmth… god, I was so cold.

And thirsty.

The simple water in that cup smelled like the finest whiskey in the world.

I fell off the bed, dragging myself hand over hand to that offered ambrosia. My legs didn't want to work anymore, and I didn't have the courage to look back at them. I didn't want to see a misshapen horror, a half-wolf-woman-monstrosity that surely I had to be given the way I hurt. I made it to the water, clasping it with twisted fingers, and spilling as much as I drank. But some of it got down my throat, and it cleared my head for a brief moment.

Enough to see Jeremy's face, and Elena's, the former as blank as I'd ever seen it. The latter contorted as if she was trying to stop from vomiting. Vomiting at the sight of me. Of a transformation gone horribly wrong. Oh god, what had I become?

I started to look back, and that's when Elena moved. Her hands grasped the bars of the cage, kneeling down beside me. Her perfect human hands, so close to my half-mutated paws splotched here and there with fine white fur.

"Don't look," she said urgently. "Don't look back, Lotte. Concentrate. You can do this. You can do this. Let the… let the pain take you where you need to go. Don't fight it. Don't give up. You can do this."

I glanced up, saw the sorrow on Jeremy's face.

Just like it had happened in the vision.

"I don't understand," I gurgled out, my mouth not able to produce the words when so twisted. "I met my wolf. I asked her for help. I… don't understand."

Jeremy stepped forward, placing a hand on Elena's shoulder. She glanced up at him, near pleading with him to do something. Anything. And when his eyes met mine again, I knew there was only one thing he could do to help me. He could finish what he'd started in that den.

Because I was a monster now. I wasn't going to make it.

God, where the hell was my wolf? Why was this happening?

She made a mournful sound in the back of my head, pacing the cage of my human form, unsure how to get out. Dying, too, because I was dying. Unlike me, she was strangely okay with this idea. Death was natural, and while not something to be longed for, it was what it was. We weren't going to make it, and she knew it. It was just too much, too much pain.

I'd asked too much of her… and of me.

"Do it," I heard myself say, shoving the cup away.

"Jeremy," Elena pleaded. "No, we can… she can… Don't—"

"Elena, go upstairs," he said quietly but firmly, walking over to the far wall and retrieving a set of keys. "Send Clay down to help me in five minutes."

"Jeremy, I—"

He silenced her with a touch, the placing of his hand on the back of her neck. Her eyes nearly closed, and I understood why he did that so much to me. The warmth, the scent… comfort. Comfort I couldn't have understood until this moment.

"Go, please."

She rose slowly, casting one final glance my direction. "I'm so sorry."

And then she was heading up the stairs. I closed my eyes as the key fit in the lock, and the door swung open. I kept them closed as he stepped inside, and wonder of all wonders, I heard him lock the door behind him and toss the keys out of reach. Locking us in together.

I pulled the blanket around my body, wanting to hide from him as much as myself. He didn't say anything, just sat on the floor next to me, and slowly, ever so gently, pulled me up against him. The moment he touched me, everything started to go back, twisting and contorting. He held me as I cried, as my body reversed what it had done until I was human again. Gasping and panting in his arms.

"I don't understand," I sobbed. "I did everything I was supposed to."

"I know," he soothed, stroking my hair, pulling me further into his lap until I was huddled against him. "This wasn't your fault. I blame myself."

I shook my head. "You didn't do this to me. You didn't kill me. Cain did. Cain… and fate."

"I should have kept you here at Stonehaven, or fought harder to keep you away. You, and your twin. I would have done anything to save you, please believe that."

I nodded. It was the only thing I could do, and he was so warm. I didn't want to waste a second of it. "We're stubborn like that. She has a crush on you, you know."

He stiffened at that for a moment, truly surprised. "Who?"

"Char. Ever since you saved our lives that day at Stonehaven."

He chuckled, the sound a soft rumbling in his chest, and I couldn't help but draw closer to it, to him. His arms tightened in response. "I'm flattered."

"She'd kill me if she knew I kissed you. She loves her fiancé, but…" I tried to shrug, but it hurt too much. "A crush is a crush."

That one hand rose again, caressing down my cheek, and tipping my head back. And in the shifting of our bodies, I felt the syringe in his other hand, almost hidden against the blanket. A syringe filled with something deadly, most likely, cleverly hidden when he'd grabbed the keys so I wouldn't see it coming. A single prick, a tiny sting, and I would fall asleep, to never wake up again.

A mercy. The only one he could give me now.

I let my eyes open, staring up into his. Into a blue so deep I was nearly drowning in it.

"May I kiss you, truly this time?" He whispered, a soft smile on his lips, one that couldn't wash away the sadness in his gaze. "I seem to owe you that after everything that has happened, after everything you've done for us."

A distraction, surely. Like Romeo. _Thus with a kiss I die…_

I tilted my head back, and he leaned in. I tried not to feel the hand at my back as it moved, positioning to deliver that lethal dose. Every part of my body began to tingle, fill up with glittery, giddy, elation of all things. Relief that it was all coming to an end? Probably. I had no idea, and in that moment I didn't care. It was all going to be over soon. In seconds I wouldn't have to face so much pain ever again. Even the brand in my flesh no longer burned. No, it seemed to pulse with pleasure as his lips closed the distance, touched mine.

Safe. Always safe and warm with him. The wolf within me agreed, whined behind my eyes and paced in frantic circles. This was what she'd wanted all this time, to touch the Pack, to taste them. To taste him. Alpha. Our Alpha. The only one with the strength to save us, to show us true joy as a pack and a family. To guide us through the most difficult times.

If only he would reach for me, for us, and guide us through this.

The tingling consolidated in my chest and then burst through my mouth and into his. His jerked, shocked, as my power raced through him, my wolf calling his. Begging his to save us. The needle fell from his hand, skittering across the floor. His wolf responded to that call almost instantly, and I felt both of his hands gripping my shoulders hard, his mouth consuming mine, as if he could climb through me and get to the wolf inside.

Oddly enough, it somehow did.

His wolf roared on a wave of fire down my throat, traveling the distance between us on the pathway provided by my power, scorching through the cold and latching massive jaws around my wolf's throat. Slowly, ever so slowly, his wolf bore her down into submission, until she would follow him as her Alpha forever. Follow him through anything. Through everything.

Including… including how to _change_.

Don't ask me how it happened. I'll never know, and I don't think he knew, either. He shoved me away from him, gritting his teeth through a cry as he began to shift. And with every twist of his body, mine followed suit, as if he still had his metaphorical jaws around my wolf's throat, and she had no choice but to follow him. My vision blurred, his will so strong that it dragged me under…

The next thing I remembered was staring up at Clay, Elena, Antonio, and Nick, the look of astonishment on their faces enough to make me blink. My head lolled on my neck like parts of a broken puppet, so weak and tired and hurting. But hurting in an all together new way. It took everything to crack open my jaw and try to say something. To ask what horror I had become now.

A whine left my throat instead, a whimper that no human could have ever produced.

That whine was answered by the darkest, deepest growl I had ever heard in my life. I froze, eyes snapping shut. Until I felt a tongue against my face, a lap against my eyelids as if to tell me to keep them closed, and the scent of warmth and safety was all around me.

Jeremy… I would know that scent anywhere.

Stars, I was so tired all of a sudden.

He growled again, and a paw half the size of my head descended right next to it. He was standing over me, protectively. He snapped at the air, the click of his teeth like the speaking of words, and the others fell back. I couldn't help but open one eye, and stare down in stunned wonder at my perfect paws. My perfect white paws. Jeremy seemed to have heard that one bat of eye, and he glanced down, nuzzling my face a moment.

Before he, too, lay down next to me, his head resting across my neck, eyes open. Watching. Protecting.

And for the first time in days, I felt safe enough to drift off to sleep.


	15. The Cage and the Isolation

A/N: Expanding the time line a little bit. It was never really stated in the series just when Jimmy Koenig showed up. Given how fast the Pack tends to heal, it was probably only a day or two after Cain's death. For this story, it's going to be a little longer. After all, the definition of Iteration is thus: "repetition of a sequence of operations that yields results successfully closer to a desired result." Here's my desired results. ;)

* * *

I spent five days in that cage.

The first day went by in a blur, a blur of pain and slumbers so deep that I couldn't remember what I'd dreamed. Jeremy was gone when I woke, and he did not join me in the cage again. At first I thought it was a rather cruel thing to do, leaving me alone in the dark and in confinement. But when true consciousness reclaimed me for the first time, I understood. The moment awareness filtered through my rattled brain, I began to change.

I had no control. My wolf was in the proverbial driver's seat, and she'd decided to take our body out on a test drive without first learning how to steer properly or apply the brakes. It hurt less than the first time, but it was still agony incarnate. I changed too fast, my wolf too excited to taste the air and flex her limbs, and the end result was the wolf-me lying on the floor, panting from the pain and the exertion.

We passed out together that way.

And woke up human.

And instantly repeated the process.

Again.

And again.

And again and again and again.

The dark was soothing to my new wolf-eyes, the light coming from the window above almost too painful to handle. Food and water seemed to magically appear through the slot in the bottom of the door. Always meat of some sort and always raw. That first day I was barely able to make it to the offered plate and bowl. But once I got my first mouthful down (as a wolf), I couldn't get enough. The water was amazing, too, the best things I had ever consumed. I ate and drank and ate, and then slept.

That was the sum total of my first day as a wolf.

* * *

By day two I continued to spent most of my time sleeping and eating, the majority of that still as a wolf. I was surprised and yet not surprised to wake up clean, my hair damp and smelling of pure Ivory soap. I was still naked, but the blanket that covered me was fresh and clean, and so were the sheets on the mattress beneath me. Someone had been brave—and wonderful—enough to tend to my needs while I slept. My senses were still too wild, too sharp, to pick out who it was. To pick out anything that wasn't right in front of my face, believe it or not.

Because I could smell everything. Taste it, too, through the air. The dust on the old scrolls that lined the walls, the wood that had been used to make up the shelves they sat on, the inks used to pen the words and create the illumination on their borders… Most of those scrolls were made of velum, not paper. And I could taste and smell the different animal skins, the natural curing solutions the authors used to turn flesh into thin papery sections.

I could even smell the different wolves that had handled those over the years, each so faint as to blend into one another, yet remain faintly unique as to have their own fragrance.

History… I could smell history. It was an altogether frightening thought and at the same time felt perfectly natural.

The Pack lived here at Stonehaven and used this room and those scrolls. Not as frequently as the other rooms in the house, but enough that their scents clung to everything, too. So much so that I couldn't pick out who had come near me recently and who had merely passed through the room. Who was still alive to walk these old floors and who were long dust in their graves.

"Thank you," I whispered, not knowing if anyone could hear me, but feeling the need to thank someone for the kindness. "Thank yo…"

That was all I got out of my mouth before I was crying out, the wolf taking over again and forcing another change. Unlike the previous day, I was kind of ready for it? At least I could feel it coming, see the shifting in my mind before my body started to follow suit. That was progress of sorts, right? She was still in control, and the change happened faster than I wanted. I ended up on the floor again on my side, panting and out of breath. Hurting, because it always hurt to change, and I was learning that it hurt twice as much if it was done too fast.

When the second change came upon me that day, I tried to breathe through it. Having changed so many times that I lost track the day before, I was starting to recognize the feelings. The tingling in my limbs that was so similar to when a vision was about to occur was the first sign. The tightness of my skin the second and the need to constantly stretch or roll my neck on my shoulders the third. I gave into those desires as much as I could, given the lack of patience in my wolf.

It made changing that time just a smidge more tolerable.

That was a victory, believe it or not. I was able to struggle to all four feet for the first time, even take some tentative steps. I was all gangly and uncoordinated, very much like a newborn cub (or was that pup? Something I would have to look up if I ever got out of the cage). I kept trying to use my hind legs more than my front, a throwback to being just human. Hey, don't judge me. When you crawl around on all fours, you still use your back legs for most of your propulsion. You use your arms for balance and steering.

It was a very human assumption, and my wolf didn't like it. According to her, we should use all four legs for everything, and every instance that I didn't was just another excuse for her to snarl. She got really bitchy towards the end, and we spent a little while gnawing at the steel bars of the cage to show it. All that got us was the nasty taste of worked steel in our mouths and some sore teeth, but we both agreed that it felt better than just laying there feeling sorry for ourselves.

It was the first time we agreed on something together.

I suppose I should clarify a few things, given that last statement. My wolf and I weren't two separate personalities living in the same form. The human me (if we used Freud's theories on personality, it was called the "Ego") was still very much in control of our rational mind. In wolf form, I still thought as a human, still remembered how to drive a car or open a door or eat with a fork. I still loved my twin and hated country music. I was still _me._

The only difference was now my "Id" (the irrational and instinct driven part of my personality) was now a wolf. It wasn't wolf-like or had wolf-characteristics. No, it was pure _wolf_. Things like hunger, thirst, fear, love, hate… anything that had to do with impulse or emotion was driven by my wolf. She wanted what she wanted, and didn't like being told that she couldn't have it. It was so new and alien and unlike anything I had ever experienced. There was no "Super Ego" anymore inside of me. There was no center of my brain that processed rules and control.

The change had pretty much destroyed that part of me. It left me with a fractured personality, a purely human side and a purely wolf side, and no way to bridge the gap.

Hence, the cage and the isolation. I may have survived the physical change, but I was by no means done with the mental and emotional. Jeremy couldn't help me this time, and he knew it. I had to rebuild myself, recreate the Super Ego and sense of morality. And I had to do it alone. To have help would only imprint pieces of other's personalities onto myself. It wouldn't allow me to rebuild the person I was and set the path to the person I would be.

Again, the rational doctor in me understood all this. But without the last part, without that Super Ego? I had no way of communicating it to my Id. So my wolf ran about in useless circles, becoming more and more upset at her confinement as we ate and rested and gained strength. And I experienced my first, true taste of fear.

What if I somehow got out of the cage while in wolf form? What if I didn't find that balance between wolf and human? Would I become a wolf in truth, never returning to human form? What would happen then? Would the _me_ me part of my personality just degrade, fade away until only the wolf remained? Wasn't that a kind of death in and of itself, the death of personality?

My wolf was okay with that plan. She didn't care if we never walked on two legs again. In fact, she'd be rather pleased if that was the case. And that, believe it or not, was the thing I needed to piss me off in the right way. I had a serious problem with that plan, and little Miss Prances-A-Lot could shove it up her snow-white-furred ass. I acknowledged her right to exist. Hell, I'd even let her stake her claim in my Id as a show of good faith and cooperation.

To be handed an eviction notice from my own body?

Fuck. That.

_I_ attacked _her_ for the first time, and after a pain-filled internal struggle, I forced a shift back to human form. My first victory. God, it felt so sweet.

I collapsed against the cage door and slid to the floor. Human hands latched onto those bars as if it were the only thing holding me to this planet, and I hoisted myself up hand over hand until I stood on my own TWO legs again, laughing to myself and crying at the same time.

"I've done it," I said aloud. "For now. For once. I'm me. I'm just me."

Fingers closed over mine, warm fingers that I knew from memory and from scent. I was… _aware _of him in ways that I couldn't have comprehended before, not without my wolf.

"Yes," Jeremy said softly. "You did it. For now."

Before all of this happened, I would have been horrified to be naked in front of him. I would have been scared out of my wits to know that someone had come in while I was asleep and bathed me, combed my hair, and locked me up in a cage. Now? Knowing that such things had been done to me was wonderful.

Wolves were social creatures by definition, and the word Pack meant so much more than a group of people that lived together. It was more than family, more than blood and genetics. That something more resonated deep inside me, and my wolf lifted her head and peered through my eyes at him. Only this time she didn't try to take over, to shut the human out of her. She didn't object to being without fur to cover her body anymore than I objected to being naked. Not when we felt the safety of Pack nearby.

A second point in time where my wolf and I were in harmony, in complete agreement.

I rested my head against the bars, felt him step closer still until he was pressed to the cage, too. Only bars to separate us, his lips brushing my forehead. My hands slipped of their own accord through the bars, wrapping around his waist. Likewise his did the same, draping my shoulders. And when his hand caressed the back of my neck, my knees almost buckled. Stars, it felt so good.

So… right.

I smiled.

I felt him smile, too.

"What are you thinking?" He murmured into my hair.

"About the night of Char's wedding shower," I answered honestly. "You calmed me down then, when you found me out by the fence. Standing almost as we are now, with a metal barrier in between."

"I often wonder why you chose that moment to appear."

I wanted to lift my head, look into his eyes. But to move from this blissful contact, this perfect harmony within and without myself, was anathema. I couldn't have let go of him if my life depended on it.

"Funny, I've wondered the same thing since it happened," I murmured back. "Why you chose that moment to walk that far away from your home, to visit the limits of your property. Just like you knew when I paid my little visit to that pond. Always showing up in time to save me."

He made a noncommittal sound, not exactly a yes and not precisely a no. Just an acknowledgement of the statement I'd made. It made me smile a bit more.

"You disagree," I said, moving my head only enough to look up at him.

His answer was a kiss to my forehead. Nothing more. Enigmatic as always. And I realized that becoming a werewolf wasn't going to give me any special insight into him. If anything, it put a new barrier between us that I'd have to learn to overcome. Now he was my Alpha in truth. I was going to have to learn to recognize when Jeremy the man was speaking, and when my Alpha was speaking.

"Don't think of that right now," he said, reaching out to take my face in his palms. As if reading my mind. "You have much more ahead of you, Lotte. Focus on learning control. The rest can wait for later."

Oh, that was definitely my Alpha speaking now. His body language had changed, a shift so subtle that I would have missed it if most of him wasn't pressed up against most of me. He was still warm, still comforting… but now commanding at the same time. It left me a little afraid, but only because I knew what was coming next. He was going to let go, and my brief reprieve of balance was going to go with him.

"Shssssh," he soothed, feeling the tension that started to fill my limbs. "You must do this on your own. We all did. You can do this. I know you can."

"Would you think ill of me if I wanted to ask you to stay just a little longer?"

"Are you asking me to stay?"

Yes! "No," I heard my lips say instead. Dammit, I was going to be brave, wasn't I? Brave and stupid. "Don't take this the wrong way, but it's probably better if you go."

He smiled that small, sincere smile again, and kissed my forehead one last time. "Then I will not think ill of you, ever."

I huffed out a strained laugh. "Just wait until I'm out of this cage. Then I'll be back to making you regret those words."

That's about all I could say in terms of a goodbye. He stepped away from me, and took the lid off of a Tupperware dish. The scent of meat flooded the air, and that was all my wolf needed to turn the tables on me. I was on hands and knees before I knew it, going through the change again. Vaguely aware that Jeremy slid the tray of food and water through the door slot, and for the first time he didn't smell worried or look sorrowful when he left.

That was my second day as a wolf.

* * *

Days three and four were more of a repeat of day two, with my time divided the following ways: fifty percent sleeping, thirty percent as a wolf, and twenty percent as a human. That may not sound very promising, but I had worked hard to earn that twenty percent. I paraded that percentage around though my mind like a victory banner. I had no idea what my ultimate percentage goal was, and since no one showed up to give me one, I had a feeling that each one was unique.

Each person/wolf/whatever found their own way to be comfortable in their skins. I had to balance my own ratio until I felt I had the right mix. Then, I was fairly certain, I would have to prove that mix was "right" to Jeremy and the rest of the Pack before I was paroled. So guess who has two thumbs (Sometimes. Most of the time they were paws.) and spent a lot of time focusing on rebuilding her SuperEgo? That's right, this girl.

By the end of Day Four (yes, I was keeping an ongoing "medical chart" in my head), I was showing significant progress. So much so that I was in human form when Nick came down the stairs, my tray of food in his hands. I was sitting on the bed, staring off into the darkness. No, it wasn't in depression or boredom. It was in a sense of near euphoric bliss that I _was_ sitting on the bed, wrapped in my fresh blanket, and enjoying the sensation of the wall against my human back. I had no idea how long I'd spent in human form this time, but I knew it was longer than any previous attempt.

A lot longer.

Nick stopped at the large central table/desk thing in the center of the basement, setting down the covered tray. His eyes found mine, and I smiled.

"Heyya Nicky."

That million dollar smile lit up his whole face, made his blue eyes shine like polished gems. "Heyya Lotte."

He made a motion as if he was going to approach the cage. I shook my head in the negative. "Nothing personal, hon. I'm trying to focus on not, you know, going wolf. Touching anyone of the Pack right now defeats that purpose."

His smile faded a touch, but didn't disappear. "Noted," he said, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll save the hugs for when you're out of there and with us upstairs where you belong. I still can't believe that you made it."

I lifted an eyebrow at that.

He blushed. Yes, Nicholas Sorrentino—the Cassanova of Bear Valley—blushed like a school boy.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he smirked. "I was scared out of my wits when we put you in here. The fact that you beat all the odds like Elena? I'm blown away, Lotte. Relieved and happy and… Words can't describe it."

It was my turn to have my smile fade. "I almost didn't. Nick—"

He was moving before he realized it, stepping up to the cage and gripping the bars. "Don't think of it," he said, the intensity in his tone leaving no room for argument. "You made it. You _made_ it. That's all that matters."

"I'm not discrediting the fact that I made it," I said. "But I want you to give credit where it's due. I… died, I think. No, hear me out," I threw up at hand to forestall his coming objections. "I felt my heart stop, Nick. I… would have stayed dead if not for Jeremy and whatever screwed up power I have."

He frowned. "You mean this 'vision' thing that Dad's been talking about. I find it hard to believe, honestly."

This time both eyebrows went up. "Yet you find it easier to believe that two women survived the change in your lifetime, when every other one in all of history has died."

He shrugged a shoulder, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Honestly, yeah. The evidence of the latter is right in front of me. The former?" He shook his head again. "Jeremy says that it's true, that you have these visions and this 'power,' so I'll believe him. But…"

"But you are only believing him because your Alpha says its so, not because you really believe it."

He shrugged again. "Can you blame me?"

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "No," I said truthfully. "No one believes me when I say anything about it. Which is why I kept it a secret for so long. If you don't want to believe in my abilities, then at least believe this: Elena and I survived for two entirely different reasons. Whatever sustained her wasn't what sustained me."

"Fair enough," he said, that frown returning. "Why is it so important for you to make that distinction?"

My mouth closed on its own. Shit, why _was_ it suddenly so important to me? "I don't know, only that it is. It's vitally important to me. I used to have these flashes of insight, these moments where a compulsion would consume me until I followed it. Or I would blurt out something that I knew was gospel truth, even without evidence to back it up. I guess that last part hasn't altered in me with the change."

He lifted his hands in surrender. "If you believe it is that important, then I'll relay the information to Jeremy and the others."

The sudden tension that had filled my shoulders vanished, and the wolf in me seemed to lower her guard, too. I hadn't even been aware that she'd risen behind my eyes, hackles up and body braced for a fight. Inwardly, I ran a mental hand down her muzzle, felt her body rub against my legs in return. We agreed. Even not knowing the outcome of what we'd said, we agreed that it had to be said. And as a reward, she did her 'circle dance,' walking around and round in the same spot until she found where she was comfortable, and lay down.

Content.

When Nicky took the lid off of my dinner, she merely flicked a metaphysical ear and thumped her tail once. Just to show that she was, indeed, hungry. But she had no need to take control and—every pun intended—wolf down what was presented. Was I really going to be able to eat like a human this time? She huffed out a growl/sigh, objecting to the term 'human.' I resolved right there to use that term as rarely as I could get away with, so long as she resolved not to be so vicious and 'wolf' every chance she got.

The swish of her tail was not happy, but neither did she argue. See, balance… of a sort.

When I didn't lunge at the door, or fall to my knees and start to change, Nick's smile returned to full on stunning wattage. He pulled a knife and fork from his back pocket and proceeded to cut a rather nice, rare (but cooked!) steak into bite-sized pieces. A second dish was pulled from the tray and opened, and the scent of grilled asparagus with lemon and butter had me off that bed in a heartbeat. And not because I needed to shift, either.

"Is that… not meat?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, it's not meat. It's veggies. I can assume you want those, too?"

Both my wolf and I stared hard at him. "Don't make met get hurt attempting to take those from you. We both know I won't win, but I'll try like the mad."

The chuckle became a full on laugh. "Only for now, Lotte. When you're ready, I'll personally teach you how to fight."

He slid the tray through the slot. He wouldn't give me the knife, and the fork that was added to the tray was one of those plastic disposable things. But it was a fork. A _FORK_! My hand only shook slightly as I used it to bring my first bite as a… werewolf not in wolf form… to my lips.

It was another taste of heaven, using that fork. Funny how something so taken for granted every day could have such a significant impact in that moment.

Nick sat down on the floor across from me, his own tray of food on his lap. We ate in silence, grinning at each other the whole time. Like when we were kids, told to be quiet at the table while the adults talked. All that was missing was Clay, and the ability to touch each other. When the meal was finished, when we'd lingered as long as we could over that last bite, luxuriating in each other's presence, he collected the trays.

"Good night, Lotte," he said, winking. "Soon the bad will be over. I promise you, you'll have your life again."

"Good night, Nicky," I yawned, fatigue already starting to drag me under. "Thank you for dinner…and for everything."

He winked again, turning the only light in the room down to its lowest setting, and headed up the stairs. I retreated to my bed, content for the first time in nearly a week, and curled up in my blanket. I was smiling when I fell asleep.

And thus ended my third and fourth days as a werewolf.

* * *

By Day Five, my ratio had changed again. I was back to the thirty/thirty-three percent sleeping ratio of a normal human being. That was roughly six to eight hours of sleep a day. The rest of that time was a good solid fifty/fifty split between wolf and human. Even then, my time as a wolf was a full agreement between both halves of my mind. I wanted to learn what triggered her, what brought her to the surface and what made her who and what she was.

So, in other words, I was experimenting with myself.

Thinking of scenarios and feelings, memories and emotions that inspired different thought patterns in me. Believe it or not, things that angered me to no end were actually less likely to induce a change than things that frightened me. Don't get me wrong. When we were angry, she was right up there in my brain-space, snarling and ready to leap at whatever was in our way. But she wasn't an idiot, my wolf. She knew that she wasn't in a place that felt "safe" enough to emerge.

We were in an urban environment, and as long as we had some modicum of control over the anger, she was content to let the human take the lead.

When I was afraid? Like, say, when it dawned on me that five whole days had passed and I hadn't heard a word about Char? Oh, the change was instant.

Fast.

Brutal.

And we threw ourselves at the cage door hard enough to snap bone. Strong enough that we made the damn thing rattle on its hinges. Antonio must have been in the kitchen, because he made it donw those stairs nearly before I geared up for my second leap at the bars. A small part of me was relieved to see him, to see full color in his face and to watch him stand to his full height. Only a tiny hint of darkness around his eyes let me know he wasn't fully recovered yet. But other than that, he looked as fit as ever.

And the look of vexed annoyance in those eyes at my display of temper was almost powerful enough to make me reconsider that leap. Almost. We leapt anyway, latching jaws around that padlock, growling around it and gnawing at the same time.

"Lotte," he said carefully but firmly, slowly approaching the cage. "Lotte, I need you to focus. I need you to change back and tell me what's wrong."

We snarled at him, mouth still wrapped around that lock. His wolf—the dark thing I always saw behind his and Jeremy's eyes—looked back at me, his lips compressing in a hard line. Apparently whatever I had snarled at him was the equivalent of a screw off, or a challenge. I wasn't up on my wolf-iquette enough to know what I was saying. For all I knew, I could be hitting on him or chatting pleasantly about the latest episode of Game of Thrones.

The way he put his hands on his hips, glaring down at me with a very upset-dad expression, let me know it was probably the former. I was probably saying very not-nice-wolf-things. Which fit my mood completely.

Still, he had a point. I couldn't talk when I was a wolf. And he leaned back against that same table that Nick had last night, crossing his arms in almost the exact same way, too. Waiting me out. I glanced at the wolf within, saw her snarl, but at the same time admit defeat. We weren't going to get out of this cage and find our sister without talking.

"Where's Char?" I said the moment I had a human mouth (that wasn't grunting from the pain of the change, that is) again. "It's been five days, judging by the passage of light through that window. Where's my sister?"

"Safe," he had the gall to say. Just that one little word.

I cursed, and didn't bother to make it beneath my breath. I hauled myself to my feet, securing my blanket around me like a toga. "Antonio, the police are going to be looking for us now. Five days missing—"

"I've handled it."

"Handled it, how?"

He tipped his head to the side, studying me a long moment. "You really aren't going to let this go until you get answers, are you?"

"Or until I successfully chew my way through the cage," I said, mock-cheerfully. "Really, it's up to you."

When he didn't so much as blink at that, just kept staring at me with that stony expression, my wolf took the opportunity to nip at me. To remind me that I was a werewolf now. That changed about every dynamic between me and the people I once knew. More specifically, my sarcasm and flashy anger could be interpreted as a direct challenge within the pack. My wolf recognized Antonio as not only being far ahead of me in the Pack order, but also as someone that could really hurt us if we got out of line.

Not that he was the type to hurt people just to hurt them. But she let me know there was a strong reason why wolves had a pecking order in the Pack. He wouldn't hesitate to let me know my place in it.

Joy of joys. I was only five days old, wolfwise, and I was already getting a crash course in Pack structure. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Stars, this was going to be harder than I thought.

"Charlene is at Ravenswood," Antonio said, his tone soft, almost acknowledging my submission to his higher authority. "She's with Maxmillian Grant, my cousin and a valued member of the Sorrentino family. He's spun a goodly amount of red tape around you, your sister, and your Aunt. As far as the outside world is concerned, you and your sister are both at Ravenswood: you under a sort of house arrest and she is there willingly to work out the logistics of the joint case."

One eye opened. "I thought you and Nick were severing the cases."

"Circumstances have changed," he replied without missing a beat. "I'm not just protecting my son and the Pack anymore. I'm protecting you, too. So is Max. The best way to stall this case is to tie them back together for the time being. Trust me, Lotte. This is what I do for the Pack, and for most of our kind. I take care of the human problems."

I couldn't help but wince at the term "human problems." It hadn't escaped my notice that my twin could possibly become a "human problem" somewhere along the way. How would Antonio "take care" of that? Would I even be consulted?

"And Char?" I looked him square in the eye. "Where does she fall in all this?"

"Nowhere," he said bluntly. "She doesn't know about us. Lotte, for her sake, she can never know about us."

"That's why Max is sitting on her at Ravenswood?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that's why Max is there. Among other reasons."

He didn't elaborate on what those other reasons might be, and the look in his eyes stated quite clearly that he wouldn't any time soon. I sighed again, pressing my forehead once again to the overly familiar bars of the cage. Hey, it was better than cursing him and this whole situation. Because that's what I wanted to do right now. Curse and curse and scream in sheer frustration. There was nothing I could do for her, or for myself. Nothing but sit in this cage and just… wait.

I received another reward for actually keeping my tongue in check, that being Antonio stepping up to the door. His hand touched my shoulder lightly. Before the change, I would have stepped away from that touch. I was pissed and I wanted to stay pissed. I wouldn't have wanted comfort, never mind the fact that I wasn't a touchy-feely type to begin with. Instead, my hand caught his, bringing up to my cheek, leaning into it.

Leaning into the familiar scent of Pack.

"You're a good girl, Lotte," he said quietly, thumb caressing my cheek. "I've told you before that I've always thought of you like a daughter. Trust me, okay? Let me take care of this while you take care of yourself."

"Does she know I'm here?"

"Yes."

That surprised me. "Why?"

"Because there was no reason to lie to her. She knows only that you are here with Nick, that the two of you are in danger and its better if you are hidden away in a fortress like Stonehaven. She doesn't like it, or her own captivity at Ravenswood, but she's smart like you. She'll see reason soon enough."

"Promise me you'll protect her like you protect me."

"I promise I'll do everything I can for her."

I caught the unspoken words hanging off the end of that easily spoken sentence. "But she's not Pack," I finished.

His lips compressed a moment. "No, she's not Pack."

"And that's your first priority."

"Soon it will be yours, too. And," he said swiftly, voice sharp to cut through my rising protests. "Because the Pack is my priority, it makes her important to me. She's important to you. I want my family to be happy, Lotte. If saving her life leads to your happiness, you better believe I'll make that a priority."

My head returned to the bars, and his other hand slipped through, smoothing my hair. Even my wolf had nothing to say on that. She trusted him, trusted the Pack. If he said our sister was safe, then she was safe. End of list.

"Family," I murmured. "Never really had that before, not that would openly acknowledge me as their own, that is. Feels like I've been adopted. Should I start referring to myself as a Sorrentino?"

"It wouldn't hurt," he murmured back. "I've thought of you that way since you were nine."

I glanced up at him, and was rewarded with the second Sorrentino blush in as many days. "Really?"

He had the grace to look away a moment, but the slight smile on his mouth remained. "We knew you were special," He admitted. "That night you and your sister came to Stonehaven, we knew there was something about you. We made it a point to watch over you, albeit from a distance."

"So it wasn't a coincidence that you and Jeremy started taking Clay and Nick to dinner once a week in town, usually the same nights that my parents took Char and me."

His smile took on the Sorrentino impishness that must pass from father to son. "Would it help to know that Clay was the one that insisted on it? He was the one that found you two that night, picked up your scents on the property. He was worried sick that you might have been hurt."

"We were," I said. "We would have died if you and Jeremy hadn't found us."

"Clay's always watched after you, like you watched over him when he was a boy."

"I just shared my lunch with him…"

"You gave him comfort and friendship, things we couldn't when he was in school. It tore him up inside when Malcolm wouldn't allow him to go back. And… when you left."

My shoulders hunched unconsciously, prompting him to pull me into a hug similar to the one Jeremy had days ago. "I couldn't stay," I said softly. "There were too many memories in this town for me. So much so that I almost didn't come back at all."

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. We were both thinking about how things would have been different if I hadn't come home. He would be dead, and I would be in Seattle, my life my own again. Doing everything that I loved… and trying my best to ignore the tiny part of me that always looked back. Always followed the wind when it blew East across the ferry, in the direction of home.

The brand on my shoulder pulsed once, and I saw what would have been had I ignored the call home.

Nick and Jeremy grieving. Antonio's body consumed in flames. Elena and Clay at odds, yelling at one another. Aunt Karen caught in the battle between the Pack and the Mutts, bitten and dying. Elijah dead, his blood all over the gazebo in town, ravaged by the Mutts. Char, so lovely in her white wedding gown… screaming in a cage similar to this one. Screaming not because she'd been bitten, but because the man with the hipster glasses—the man that had killed Michael Braxton—had kidnapped her from her own wedding.

Saving her as a special gift to himself, a person to hunt through the grounds of Stonehaven once he and the rest had killed the Pack. I saw Char running, screaming, and tumbling down that same ravine like when we were children. Only this time there was no Antonio to save her. She hit the dark water, the black wolf that was her abductor plunging in after her. She never surfaced this time, and the water ran red…

"_Madre di Dio_," Antonio whispered, hands rising to take my face in his. "Lotte… Was it… real?"

He'd seen it with me, that vision. Seen his own death, and the deaths of everyone I loved.

"It was a possible future," I whispered back, letting him pull me against the bars, hugging me as tightly as he could. "It's what could have been, the culmination of everything that has led up to this point."

He stepped back slightly, looking down into my eyes, his unsettled and slightly wide. "You knew all along, knew about the Pack and the secrets at Stonehaven. From that moment Jeremy and I rescued you."

Ah, yeah. That one stray thought of Antonio plunging beneath the water to save my twin, emerging as a man when he went in as a wolf. Funny how that part had become second nature to me, so much so that I shared it unconsciously.

"I didn't exactly know," I stammered. " Honestly, I didn't know what it was that I knew until days ago. I… you should ask Jeremy about that."

"You told him."

Well, not in so many words. I suddenly found myself in the most uncomfortable moment I could imagine. How did I tell him that I did show Jeremy everything in a vision? One that occurred while I was halfway under his body. With his mouth searing the hell out of mine in the most deliciously sinful kiss I had ever had. While Jeremy was out of his mind with poison-sickness. When he didn't know his own strength and I certainly wasn't strong enough to push him away (not that I wanted to in that moment, either, because, HELLO, that kiss was the stuff of freaking legends!).

Try admitting to all of that not sounding like some creepy sex predator. Better yet, don't.

"I… showed him," I said at length. "In a roundabout way, like I shared this with you."

He nodded, eyes still troubled. "Does Char share this ability with you?"

I shook my head. "No, this was something that… Stars, I don't know how it came about. It just was."

I was pulled into another tight hug before he placed a kiss on my cheek. "You should rest," he said. "I've got some things I need to handle. Elena will bring you something to eat."

I didn't have it in me anymore to fight or talk or… anything. Knowing how close we'd all come to disaster if I'd been selfish enough to stay in Seattle? It chilled me far worse than anything else I'd ever feared. My wolf wasn't so mollified, however. She didn't take over, exactly, but she pawed at me in agitation. Nose in the air sniffing for all she was worth, searching for the scent of truth. She wanted to know, and the question flew from my lips before I knew it.

"Who was the black wolf?"

Antonio paused on the stairs, turned around to regard me a long moment. "His name is LeBlanc," he said at last. "He's a Mutt that we believe is responsible for the murders here in Bear Valley."

My wolf took that name and rolled it around her like a scent. It wasn't much for her to go on, to track, but it sated her need for blood for the moment. Antonio smiled slightly, watching the internal drama play out over my face.

"If it's in my power to grant, you'll get a piece of him, Lotte," he promised. "Trust the wolf inside you, and trust yourself. You'll be surprised how much it helps."

With that, he turned and left. I retreated to my bed.

That ended my fifth day as a wolf.


	16. This Is A Family

Nick leveraged another thick stack of pancakes onto my plate and I leveraged a glare at him in return. To which he cheerfully ignored, of course. Because the stack on my plate was maybe a third of the size of the stack he was currently rocking. I glanced around the table from where I sat between Nick and Antonio, staring at the Leaning Tower of Pisa pretending to be breakfast in front of everyone else, and tried very hard not to feel full just looking at it.

And that was just the pancakes. Apparently breakfast at Stonehaven was a full-on five star sort of affair, minus the black tie attire. Antonio passed around a tray loaded with breakfast meats: bacon, sausage (both patties and links), and ham steaks. When I said ham, I wasn't referring to Canadian bacon. Nor was I talking about the pre-sliced ham sections you'd find next to the bacon in the store. This was a nice sized ham that was baked up until the outside was golden brown and carved by hand.

Let's not forget about the eggs, the cheeses, the cooked bell peppers, the toast…

It took everything left inside me—that wasn't currently wrapped around my wolf and holding her at bay—not to launch into a doctor-driven tirade about cholesterol and the benefits of eating healthy. I swore I felt one of my arteries harden just watching Clay load on the butter and real maple syrup (not the maple-flavored sugar that most places sell) on his Monument to Carbohydrates. Good freaking lord, where was the fruit! Would it kill anyone to slap a little turkey bacon and steel cut oatmeal onto the menu?

My wolf paused in her inner struggle to leap through my mouth and onto the table in order to devour anything made of meat, and stared at me.

Just. Stared.

As if I had suggested a diet of grass for the rest of our lives. It was the first time I'd ever felt her genuinely perplexed. It was also the first time in days that she reconsidered the custody agreement we'd reached over control of our body. If I was going to do dumb things like ignore good food in the presence of our Pack, especially when our Alpha had invited us to share in his table, perhaps I wasn't ready to be in the driver's seat eighty percent of the time we were conscious.

I gave her the mental finger. She bared her teeth in the wolf-equivalent of "bring it," and I had Antonio's hand on the back of my neck and Nick's hand grasping my right before I knew it. Hell, I hadn't even been aware of the fact that my left hand was pressed over my heart, my eyes squeezed shut tightly, my breath slightly labored. Nor the fact that all activity at the table had ceased, all eyes staring now at me.

Oh joy, my first day out of the cage and I nearly wolfed out at the breakfast table. Talk about feeling like the class reject.

"Lotte?" Jeremy asked.

"I'm good," I whispered, and then cleared my throat. "I'm good."

Nick squeezed my hand gently. "Close one?"

"Not really," I took another deep breath before I opened my eyes again. "More of a heated argument than any impending change."

Nick plopped a generous helping of bacon and ham onto the only available space on my plate. "Do we get to know what that argument was about?"

"How many different ways I'm going to beat you if you don't stop putting food on my plate?"

Clay chuckled. "You say that now, darlin', but you'll clear that and want more once you swallow your first mouthful."

The thought of scaling Mount Pancake to find a good place to chisel off a bite seemed like too much effort for a morning meal. I closed my eyes again, this time trying to find a polite way to excuse myself from the table. And balled my right hand into a fist, bringing it down hard on Nick's thigh when I heard the scrape of utensils across a platter that smelled like eggs. He grunted, but didn't stop with the liberal application of scrambled on top of my ham.

This time Antonio and Clay chuckled together.

"Clay's right," Elena said quietly, almost gently. "You'll get used to the increase in appetite. You have to eat. It makes controlling the wolf easier."

That earned her one opened eye. "It does?"

She nodded, and handed the tray of cooked peppers to me. My other eye followed the first, and I sighed as I accepted the tray. I put some on top of the eggs, went to hand it to Nick, and then sighed anew at the raised eyebrow from Jeremy. I doubled the portion I had originally selected, and then handed off the tray when he gave a nod of approval.

Once everyone had their first round ready to go, all eyes shifted to Jeremy. We waited as he selected a piece of bacon, took the first bite, and nodded. The true alpha having the first choice of the kill before the rest of the pack could feast. Thus ended the opening ceremonies for Breakfast-palooza, and everyone got to work on their plates. Everyone, except me. I stared at my food like one might stare at a particularly daunting task. I didn't even know where to start!

Nick not so subtly shoved an elbow into my side, obviously reminding me to get with the food-into-face routine, and I picked up my fork. Selecting a pepper and popping it into my mouth, I lifted an eyebrow at him. He grinned back—and grunted anew as Clay's foot took him in the shin beneath the table. It was Nick's turn to lift an eyebrow—at Clay—and mine to grin at Nick. Clay winked back at me.

And just like that, the three of us were nine years old again, sharing dinner at the Bear Valley Diner while our parents talked.

"Truly," Antonio said, pinning us all with a look. One that sparkled more with remembered amusement than it did with annoyance. "We are seated at the table to eat. Do I need to separate you three?"

"He started it," I said, jerking a thumb at Nick.

"Did not. She wasn't eating her food."

"I was working on it."

"Because staring at it like you could set it on fire with your mind is the best way to consume it."

"Not all of us dive into things without thinking, Nicky," Clay interjected. "Some of us like to consider all our options."

"Is that a comment on our last sparing match?" Nick threw back.

Clay answered with a shrug. "Any time you're ready for a rematch, just say the word."

Jeremy cleared his throat, and we jumped in spite of ourselves. I muttered out a 'sorry,' heard Clay and Nick follow suit. Again, like we were kids. It didn't help matters that Antonio and Jeremy both had to take a moment to sip their respective beverages, hiding smiles behind the cups and exchanging a glance over the rim. I found myself fighting down a smile of my own, saw the same on Nick and Clay's faces.

All of this just felt so natural, so… right. Like this was the way family life was supposed to work. Back home at my parents house I would have sat quietly at the table, head down and shoveling food into my mouth as fast as I could without choking. Just to get away from the silence, the fact that I was ignored by mother and father. To escape the knowledge that they didn't want to ask how my life was going, and would have much preferred it if I left the table forever. So they didn't have to go on pretending that I wasn't there, and they could freely converse with their _acknowledged _daughter about how her life was going.

There had been many a touching Hallmark moment in the Morgan household around the dinner table. But only after I had left it. Until then, it was nothing but silent misery.

Kind of like this meal appeared to be for Elena of all people.

She ate in silence, not exactly hurrying, and not exactly making room for conversation. And it dawned on me then how the seating arrangement had played out. Jeremy sat at the head of the table, of course, with Antonio on his right and Elena on his left. Clay lingered to Elena's left, further down the table to sit opposite Nick. I was sandwiched between Nick and Antonio, close enough that our shoulders rubbed occasionally and fingers brushed when reaching for napkins or drinks.

It was gloriously wonderful, that casual touching. Warm and inviting and accepting. So much so that I wanted to change my name right then and there to Charlotte Sorrentino and would have married Nicky on the spot to make myself legally part of their family. I wanted to rewind time and switch out my fate, to have Antonio's face associated with the word 'father' when I'd first learned what that term meant. I wanted to have grown up at Stonehaven, chasing Nicky and Clay through the woods and sleeping in the same bed and making pillow forts and having play fights and… and…

My wolf pawed gently at my heart, and let me know that such things weren't outside of the realm of possibility. Aside from the rewinding of time and fate, I could still sleep in a puppy pile with them if I wanted. I could chase them through the woods on all four paws and have play fights. If Antonio was the one I wanted to be my father, I could ask him to teach me how to be proper wolf. I could let him protect me, lead me and love me.

After all, wasn't that the true definition of the word 'father?'

In fact, wasn't that what was happening right now? The Sorrentino family arrayed on one side of the table, with the Danvers family on the other. Only…

Only… there was this horrible gap of space between Clay and Elena. Something no physical contact could bridge. Jeremy's hand hesitated when he picked up fork or cup, wanting to touch her like Antonio touched me, yet holding back for some unknown reason. It was painful to watch, and reminded me that there was so much more going on beneath the surface of the Pack than just my dramatastic problems.

The phone rang, the old fashioned analog job from the 1950s that Jeremy kept on his desk, slicing through my wanderings.

"Excuse me," Jeremy said, wiping his mouth with his napkin and disappearing into the study.

"I think I'm done," Elena said, rising to her feet and picking up her empty plate.

Carefully not looking at Clay… or anyone else for that matter. No one seemed inclined to make eye contact with her, either. Oh, goodie, I wasn't the only one that had noticed the tension from that side of the table. And judging by everyone's lack of reaction, this must have been a pretty common occurrence.

"I think I'm done, too," I murmured, rising to my feet.

Or tried to, I amended. Antonio's hand landed gently on my shoulder, pushing me back down. "You need to eat more. Elena, you too. Both of you are too thin. Sit and eat."

"I'm fine," Elena began… and openly glared as Clay simply stuck a fork into a stack of ham and placed it onto the plate in her hands.

"You are fine, darlin', but Antonio's right. And you know why."

Her mouth shut with a click of teeth, and she sat again. Still glaring at him, but picking up her fork and knife. I was halfway through formulating a polite way to ask what Clay had meant with that last sentence, when Nick tried to repeat Pancake-apocalypse on my plate.

"Nick!" I snapped. "No more food. I barely made a dent in what you put…"

My words fell away as a stack half the size of Texas hit my plate—my _empty _plate. My butt hit the bench a second later without the need to imitate Elena's glare or reluctant acceptance of Antonio's order. Had I… holy crap, I _had_. I'd eaten everything on that plate during my quiet contemplations. Hell, I was vaguely surprised I hadn't licked the syrup—not to mention the glazeware pattern—off the thing.

Inwardly my wolf grinned, snapping her teeth in what had to have been a wolf-laugh. There was still room inside my tummy, too. What the freak had happened to me? Before my change, I was lucky if I could get a bite of toast into me before noon. Breakfast was anathema unless it was black, caffeinated, and of the liquid variety. Hot or cold was optional.

I could eat that extra stack before me, and probably more of that ham, before I felt I was filled to bursting. My wolf agreed, especially about that ham bit. So much so that I was offering my plate to Clay, who grinned as he offered up the baked pig in generous slices, before I knew I was doing it.

"Shut up," I said before Nick could open his mouth.

He chucked around a mouthful of eggs, gently bumping his shoulder into mine. This time Antonio didn't correct us for horsing around at the table. Though we did get what I was beginning to call the Raised Eyebrow of Warning. I smiled. I couldn't help it. It was so "dad-like" that it was damn near adorable.

Jeremy walked back into the room, and the temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees. The winter white was back in his eyes, the calm blue trying to eclipse it and failing. Whatever had been discussed on that phone call hadn't been good news.

"What?" I asked before I could stop myself. Thankfully no one corrected me.

"It was him, wasn't it." This from Antonio.

Jeremy nodded, resuming his seat and placing his napkin in his lap. "He'll be in town this afternoon. Finish eating everyone. Nick, has there been any word from Logan?"

Nick shook his head. "No, not yet. He'll call. Probably got caught up with a patient in Toronto."

Jeremy nodded again, picking up his fork. "Nick, I'll need you to meet me in the side garden for training as soon as you are ready. Elena, you'll likewise pair up with Clay. Antonio, I want you to take Lotte downstairs and begin teaching her the history and the law of our kind."

Everyone nodded, accepting their orders. Just as it seemed everyone was content to ignore the Pink Elephant in the room. Everyone, except me.

"Him, who?" I pressed. "Who was it on the phone, and why do I suddenly want to kick his teeth down his throat?"

Antonio's hand covered mine, and this time it wasn't for comfort. More of a warning to shut up already.

Jeremy lifted a hand, shaking his head slightly. "It's okay, Antonio. She has a right to know," he said, turning those eyes on me. "That was Jimmy Koenig. He and I outlined the terms of our confrontation."

This time when Elena set down her fork and left the table, no one tried to stop her. In fact, no one encouraged me to finish my plate, either, not even my wolf. Which was a good thing, as I had truly lost my appetite.

* * *

I stared down at the musty scroll, trying to focus on what Antonio was telling me. We had finished the Roman-era histories as the morning faded to afternoon, and had moved on into the medieval period. Currently my lesson was focused on a past alpha that I had secretly nicknamed The Giant Douche. This guy was a real piece of work, and not just because his views on women mirrored that of the time he lived within. That was (almost) forgivable.

It's not like I completely blamed the chauvinistic jerkwads that populated human history for their treatment of women. Laws back in the day gave women little more value than a desk lamp. Less, actually, as a lamp could be inherited in the event of death and given a good home. Women were pretty much turned out in the streets if their husbands or sons or brothers died. The lamp had a function after all. Women were just… women.

Again, I didn't agree with the treatment of women back in the day, but some of those men were considered upstanding, law-abiding citizens. But this jackhole? Oh, he took law-abiding to a whole new, dark level. Yes, in the proud history of the werewolf Pack (called the Legacies), there was an Alpha that devoted an entire scroll's worth of notes to sexual gratification. Yeah, you heard me correctly. Of all the pressing issues that plagued his people (roving bands of barbarians, actual plagues, a completely destabilized government and the crackpots that thought they could carve out their own empires), you would have thought he had other things to handle rather than himself. Nope, not this guy.

He actually bit women in an attempt to turn them into werewolves so they could serve as his personal harem. Seriously. If I had the choice of sleeping with willing, beautiful women, or a crazed prisoner-turned-werewolf, I totally would have gone the safe route. Not this guy. You don't even want to know what levels that freak sank to when all the women he bit died. And there I was, treated to this right after breakfast.

"I've figured it out," I announced, prompting Antonio to turn away from the shelf along the far wall that contained yet more scrolls. "This is a test, isn't it. I have to read about this nutjob while keeping the desire to change, find his grave, and piss on it in check."

He chuckled. "Partially. But it's also there to remind the Pack of shifting priorities over the years. Each decision of every Alpha must be recorded, and it helps to have a firsthand account of the logic behind those decisions."

"Logic," I snorted. "Don't you mean, lack thereof in this case? I mean, really, how does sleeping with actual wolves—not 'us' kind of wolves, but wild wolves—while in wolf-form help us in the present day?"

"We know it isn't something we should do now."

I slanted a look at him. "Really. You needed a whole scroll to tell you sex with animals, even when in the shape of animals, isn't the brightest idea out there."

He shrugged. "And humans need laws regarding bestiality, specifically that it is wrong, and punishments on its rule books to this day."

He had me there. "Touché," I admitted, leaning back and folding my arms over my chest. "Still, it's not something I enjoy reading right after breakfast."

"Not every task assigned is pleasant," He murmured, reaching for a specific scroll and gently prying it loose from the stack. He brought it over to the table. "Consider that part of the lesson."

I glanced over at the window, wishing I could see into the garden. "Like what the rest of the Pack is doing right now?"

He nodded. "Here, this is a section of the law that pertains to the history we've studied thus far. I wanted you to have a baseline understanding of how the laws evolved from oral and written tradition before we tackled the law, itself, directly."

I worried my lower lip between my teeth, gazing at the scroll as he unfurled it, but not really seeing the words. Half of them were in some kind of runic language that reminded me of Norse, the other half covered in what I assumed was the English translation of those runes.

Antonio pulled up a stool beside me, barely wincing as he took a seat. The physical marks of his near disembowelment were gone, healed smooth without so much as a scar to mark their passing. They may have healed at superhuman rates externally, but inside? I was learning that that was a much different story with wolves. Jeremy couldn't hide the fact that he still had trouble standing at full attention, nor that he tired easier than he once did.

Lingering effects of the stabbing and poison that had nearly killed him. Antonio wasn't that far behind him.

So when he winced, I noticed.

"Antonio—"

"I'm fine," he said, tossing a slight reassuring smile my direction. "There is a lot more to cover before the day is through. It's best if we stay on point."

I shook my head. "I don't think I can focus anymore today. All I can think about are the things you aren't telling me."

"Such as?"

"This whole Jimmy Koenig situation, for starters."

His lips pulled down in a frown. "We aren't nearly there in your education to discuss the likes of Jimmy Koenig."

"Then give me the Cliff Notes? Look, I understand if I can't know all the gritty details. Most of me, in fact, doesn't want to know them at all. But I get the impression that when Jeremy said that he 'outlined the terms of the confrontation' he wasn't talking about directions to a quiet coffee shop to hash out their differences over warm beverages and polite arguments."

His wolf passed through his eyes, a darker shadow that normal. As dark as the one I'd seen on the road to my parent's house. "No, Jimmy's reputation wasn't assigned due to his conversation skills."

"Didn't Nick refer to him as the Killing Machine?"

He nodded.

That was all I needed to leap to my feet. "And we're letting Jeremy walk into a confrontation with that? Why are we here discussing history when we should be calling for a full on strike force? Nuke 'em from orbit or something."

"Your reaction right there is precisely why Jeremy asked me to teach you the histories."

I blinked. "How do you mean?"

"We survive by our secrecy, Lotte. And we maintain order by following a strict set of laws. Chief among them being the need to keep knowledge of our race to ourselves. We can't do that by arriving en mass to handle a situation. Sending in a small group of four people is one thing, and easily ignored by humans. Sending in more than that, and you are asking for attention that we would rather avoid."

"Even if that means sending Jeremy into a dangerous situation?"

He shrugged a shoulder, not happily mind you. "That is part of the duty of being Alpha. Part of the responsibility of joining the Alpha's inner circle, of standing as his advisors, is understanding that some things must be handled alone."

"But you said up to four people wouldn't attract notice."

"I did. The Alpha is permitted to take an honor guard with him for these challenges."

And just like that, it clicked in my mind. "Clay, Elena, and Nick are going with him tonight. You all are part of the inner circle."

Again, he nodded. "Our Alpha has chosen them. Just as our Alpha has tasked you to learn our ways, and for me to teach them to you. Now," he tapped a finger on a paragraph on the scroll. "Read this passage and tell me what you think it means."

* * *

My head was swimming by the time Antonio agreed to a lunch break, stuffed full of history and laws and all sorts of correlations between the two that really made no sense to me. Okay, most of it _did _make sense if I looked at it through my wolf's eyes, but the human part of me? The part that grew up in democratic America? That part had a real hard time with the dictatorship that was Pack Law. Jeremy could literally order someone killed for blinking wrong at him, and in the next breath pardon the life of a serial killer just because he liked the color of the man's shirt that day.

The word of the Alpha was absolute. Iron-clad. Above question. It didn't have to make sense. It just was.

In all honesty, it was the best way to govern a group of individuals that had more predator in their blood than rational thought. When most of your population jumped to conclusions based on instinct, you really didn't have time to ponder a complicated set of rules. The K.I.S.S. principle (Keep It Simple, Stupid) meant that only one rule truly applied to the entire race: The Alpha sets the rules. Break them, and he'll break your face. End of list.

I didn't have to like it, though. Just as I didn't have to like the fact that Jeremy was going to fight someone to the death today. He'd return to Stonehaven with blood on his hands, or return to it bloody and broken. If at all.

Suddenly being part of the Pack wasn't the warm-and-fuzzy that I'd come to expect.

Make no mistake, I was part of the Pack now—the larger North American Pack as a whole. The histories were pretty clear on what made one Pack and what made one a Mutt. Aside from the Alpha's decree on who was kept and who was banished, there were bloodlines in those histories. Sorrentino blood had dominated the major families for more generations that I could count. All springing from the same fount back when dirt was young.

The Danvers line, itself, splintered off from the main Sorrentino branch somewhere around the time of Genghis Kahn. Yes, according to the histories, Khan was a werewolf. No, I wasn't certain I believed that, myself, but it did make for a good story. Anyway, according to the Legacy, some enterprising young warrior in Khan's army won enough battles and honor that the Khan rewarded him with a massive amount of gold and a warning to retire before he became powerful enough to challenge for leader. That young Danvers took the warning to heart and hauled ass back to England, where he founded his lineage.

Their motto: _Forte en loyalte._

Brave in Loyalty.

I'd seen those words worked into the steel gates at the front of the property, just above the Stonehaven crest.

Little did Khan know that in the future, a Malcolm Danvers would pick up that ancestor's claim and knock Dominic Sorrentino—Antonio's father—right off the Alpha throne. He'd begin a reign of terror the likes of which would have made Khan proud. Until another enterprising Danvers knocked _his_ dumbass right off the throne. That one, of course, being Jeremy. It was an oversimplified explanation of how Jeremy now sat the throne instead of Antonio, given that most things passed from father to son.

Yeah, the family lines were like that. From father to son, the only exception being the position of Alpha. That anyone could challenge for at any time. It made me wonder if Jimmy Koenig wasn't angling for the golden seat, himself, and used this confrontation as an excuse to get Jeremy to agree to a fight.

Antonio didn't think so, and told me as much when I brought it up. Jimmy loved one thing and one thing only—killing werewolves. He had no love for snuffing out human beings, claiming they died way too easily for his tastes. But his own kind? Oh, he'd kill them for sport if given the chance. Being Alpha would invite all the challengers he could want, but it also came with other responsibilities that made the License to Kill less than desirable.

Contract killing, on the other hand, was more his speed.

That didn't go over well with me, and Antonio and I had our first argument over it. So much so that he calmly but sternly suggested that I rearrange my thought patterns on the topic before I next spoke to Jeremy, or I could find myself back in that cage until I cooled off. Unless I wanted to challenge him for Alpha, I should refer myself to rule Number One: The Alpha's word is law. We lived and died under it, found safety within the Pack or misery as Mutts—as criminals in the werewolf community, unable to have a home of our own. Harried and harassed until we capitulated to Pack Law or we died.

Another K.I.S.S. principle in action.

I gazed down at the last scroll Antonio left out for me when he went to get us some lunch. It was his _coup de grace_, his final move, in our argument. Before me was the list of Mutts currently active in North America. Details of crimes, both against human law and werewolf law, were spelled out plain as day. I was to memorize it, burn those names and histories into my brain and keep them ever at the ready. Just in case I one day decided that the Alpha's Law wasn't for me.

I sat there and read and reread, saw the opportunities to repent given by Clay and Elena—Clay and Elena were the Pack enforcers?!—to each Mutt on the list. Chances to turn away from their paths, to return to the embrace of the Pack. Almost every advance was rebuffed, met with confrontation. Punishments were exchanged for the hands of forgiveness, each one clinically recorded without emotion. Beatings, harassments, and the like. Until one Mutt passed the hatred of Pack law down to another and another. Until there were entire lineages of Mutts to match the Pack families.

Stars, there were so many. It was hard to believe so many wolves wanted to go their own way. Wanted to kill or unveil themselves to the world, or were just plain jackasses. It made my blood boil to read, and several times I had to step away, press my head back against those cold steel bars of the cage and swallow back the wolf that wanted to rise and go on a killing spree. Especially after I read the passages on the Santos line.

Espeically the newly inked entries regarding a Zachary Cain and a Daniel Santos, done in the oh so familiar precise hand that I knew was Jeremy's.

"Your name isn't there."

I knew it was Jeremy before he opened his mouth, knew his scent as well as I was learning my own. Knew he was standing at the table, fingertips trailing over that hated scroll. Perhaps lingering on the final notation about Cain. The one that read: _"__Zachary Cain was executed for the crime of murder.__He, along with Thomas LeBlanc, Karl Marsten, and Daniel Santos ended the life of Pack member Peter Myers.__Cain was also judged for the crime of biting Charlotte Morgan against her will and nearly causing her death."_

"I know," I said, back to him, forehead still pressed to those bars. "Antonio explained to me the difference between Mutt and Pack."

"Good."

I spun around, somehow angry at that one word. Not sure what I had expected him to say, but a simple word like good? I spun, and nearly slammed into his chest. I hadn't heard him move, take those few steps to bring him to my side. Stars, I hadn't been this close to him since the last time we'd spoken when I was in that cage. Hadn't been near him with nothing to separate us since he was poisoned and we—

Yeah, so not thinking about that anymore. The fact that his hands were on my waist, steadying me, made that command very difficult to follow.

"You're angry."

"At myself."

The edges of his mouth quirked in a bit of a smile. "And at me. No, don't look away. Don't hide from me."

I stopped in mid-motion. I didn't want to look at him in that moment. Not when I was so angry that he was about to run off and possibly get himself killed! It was an effort to force my eyes to his with something that resembled calm. "What do you expect me to say to that?"

"The truth."

I scoffed. "That's the last thing you want to hear from me, Jeremy Da—shit," I bit my lip until it nearly bled, Antonio's lessons forcing themselves to the front of my thoughts. "I'm sorry. That was about to come out very saucy. You're not just Jeremy anymore. You're my Alpha. And as I am learning, everything has changed. My relationships, my body… all of it."

"Is that why you aren't touching me in return?"

No. Yes. Hell if I knew. I was hugging myself because if I eased up, my arms would wrap around him and never let go. His arms moved instead, one drawing me closer, the other pressing my head to his shoulder. His mouth, that generous and often infuriating mouth, blazed a trail of kisses across the crown of my head. My arms followed his, wrapping around his waist like they'd wanted to for so long. I sank into him, his warmth, and felt my breath shutter out of my lungs on a sigh.

"This is where you ask me not to go," he whispered.

I snorted. "You aren't that lucky. I'm not going to play the damsel and beg, giving you the opportunity to be all noble and shit. I'm too pissed with you at the moment."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling like distant thunder in his chest. "Nothing is ever easy with you, is it?"

"Funny, I could say the same."

The hand caressing my hair slipped under my chin, lifting my face. "I knew when I saw you in your Aunt's car, when you came back to Stonehaven at last, that you would be trouble. And still I couldn't stay away."

I didn't give him the opportunity to say anything else. And I didn't ask permission. Not this time. I initiated the kiss, felt his momentary surprise turn into acceptance. And when his arms pulled me in tightly this time, I knew that nothing short of an act of Congress was going to separate us. It didn't matter if he was my Alpha in that moment and I was his wolf, or if he was just Jeremy and I was just Lotte.

He lifted me off my feet as if I weighed nothing. I had no idea where he was taking me, and I didn't care.

"I'm still pissed with you," I whispered as he lay me down on something soft and yielding.

"That's why I'm still here."

I didn't have time to ask what that meant. His mouth hit mine again, and words were suddenly a very foreign concept to my mind.

* * *

We didn't say anything afterwards. I wasn't certain there was anything that needed to be said. Okay, there were tons of things that needed to be said, a veritable infinite amount of words that wanted to pour from my lips like Niagara falls. But would any of them change his mind? Would any of them do anything more than piss us both off (me further than I already was)?

No.

So I held onto him as long as he would let me, lay with my head on his chest and listened to him breathe. Soon enough the world would come crashing back down on us, and the Jeremy that lay with me now would give way to the stolid and immovable Alpha. I wasn't sure how I felt about him—about either of him to be honest. All I knew was that a large part of me wanted to lie here forever, and that part started to scream when he kissed my forehead and gently pulled away.

I slid his shirt over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric in place as he buttoned it. Sliding into my own clothes as he finished dressing. All in silence. All in this stupid, unapproachable, unending silence.

He stepped towards the door, and I made my way back to the table. Back to the scroll I was supposed to memorize, back to the histories and laws I was beginning to hate.

"Don't get separated," I blurted.

He paused, glancing back at me. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't get separated," I repeated. "Any of you, okay? Jimmy isn't alone in coming at you. He may think he is, but he's not."

He folded his arms across his chest. "You had a vision about this fight."

I stared hard at my homework, and for the life of me I couldn't see a damn thing other than the image of Elena being shot. "Yeah, I did. A possible future ending for your field trip," I glanced up. "It wasn't a good one. Don't let him separate you if you can help it. Otherwise Elena will pay the price."

He stood there a long moment, eyes weighing and measuring me to some scale only he understood. And then he extended a hand. "Come with me upstairs. I've called a meeting with everyone. I'd like you to attend."

I shook my head. "I'm not, what was it called? Inner circle?"

"You are part of my Pack, Lotte. I want you to attend."

My wolf, who had been strangely absent during the… happy fun time, we'll call it… that he and I had shared, was suddenly all up in my frontal lobe. Our Alpha had given us an order, and whether or not it was phrased as a polite invitation, it was an order nonetheless. She wasn't going to let me ignore it. The need to follow it was damn near pathological, as much a part of me as my flesh.

I was in touching distance of his fingers before I came to my senses and pulled to a halt. "This is why I'm pissed with you."

"The only reason?"

"Right now let's say it got a temporary promotion over the other reasons."

His eyebrows lifted for a moment, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. "You'll get used to it, I promise. Not to sound overly dramatic, but you are one of us now. I am your Alpha, and you know it. Give yourself time to control the urges."

"Say, the ones that make me want to follow you blindly?"

"Among others," he agreed, and was gracious enough to close the distance, his hand touching the small of my back. "Come, the others are almost ready."

He led me up the stairs and into the den. Nick and Antonio were already waiting for us—well, for Jeremy. My inclusion was met with almost skeptical disapproval from my adoptive brother and father. But neither said anything, and Nick pulled me into a tight hug before I took a seat next to Antonio. It was pure instinct to lean against his shoulder, his arm around me.

Stars, it was like a seduction. The longer I spent at Stonehaven, the more I wanted to stay. And the more my old life seemed like a bad dream and the new one like awakening. Antonio squeezed my shoulders, and I felt the tension that had built up at that thought start to ebb. It was so hard to hold onto anger when he was touching me.

Apparently it wasn't so difficult for Nick.

"You're not ready for this," he said bluntly, staring at Jeremy.

"My injuries have healed," our Alpha replied. "It's fine."

"Has Lotte agreed to that?"

Jeremy turned, dark thunderclouds building in his eyes. "I believe so."

Well, hell's bells. I'd just spent a good while running my hands and my teeth along almost every inch of his body. There wasn't so much as a shadow of a mark to show where he'd been stabbed. He wasn't one hundred percent healed and he knew it. But if my power was going to detect any trace of that poison still in him, wouldn't it have gone off during that, ah hem, inspection?

Thankfully I didn't have to say any of that out loud. Nick wasn't done.

"One wrong move…"

But apparently Jeremy was.

"You've made your point, Nick," Jeremy said, the tone in his voice closing that topic. Elena and Clay stepped into the room, and he glanced in their direction. "Any word from Logan?"

Nick put his hands on his hips, shaking his head and swallowing a good dose of his own anger. "He said that he'd be here by nightfall."

"We're going to have to do this without him."

"What if this deserted factory is just a trap?" Elena asked.

"Koenig prefers to work alone. To be part of an ambush would be beneath him. He's only coming because Santos failed to kill me," he flicked a glance in my direction. "That being said, you aren't the only one to caution me. We stay together as much as we can. Work in teams if it is a trap."

He took a step forward, until he was standing beside Antonio. The others moved up with him, and just as quickly as those storm clouds had built in his eyes, they vanished. The Alpha giving way to the man once again.

"There's been a lot of changes over the last few weeks," he continued. "Very emotional. It's been very hard. On all of us. We have lost Pete, and nearly lost Antonio and Lotte. But we are still one. This is a family. I need you to know that I draw my strength from you, from all of you."

He put a hand on Antonio's shoulder, and I reached out to take Nick's. He reached for Elena, and Elena to Clay. Until Jeremy's other hand rested on Clay's shoulder. A circle of trust, and of love.

And of justice.

And vengeance.

Our Alpha met our gazes one at a time, our wolves rising in our eyes. A pack waiting for the word, the signal, to strike hard at those that struck at our own. Jeremy smiled, and it wasn't a kind smile.

"We will end this today."


End file.
